Birth of a Killer
by Darth Gilthoron
Summary: Some years prior to the Angels' Knox case, a certain silent and rather skinny young man comes upon his future path...
1. The Swordsman

The blades met, clanging. Many pairs of eyes were following the fighters.

He stood facing his opponent, his weapon ready, his heart pounding furiously.

The opponent's blade descended in a graceful arc, hissing through the air. He ducked and immediately began his counter-attack, dodged another blow-

Hit! The crowd in the tavern roared.

The fighters parted again, eyeing each other from some distance. "I'll get you", his opponent hissed. "I'll get you, bastard!"

He breathed out and concentrated. Easy, boy, easy. The shouts around him became a muffled background sound.

Again the opponent charged. He let his own blade whistle through the air, blocked the blow shortly before his chest, turned the tip down and scored a hit in the other's kneecap. From the corner of his eye he saw someone painting 9:4 on a board on the wall. One more point, and he had won.

His opponent saw it, too. Without receding like before, he immediately struck another blow. He could tell that his opponent was desperate now. After all, this fellow was a grown man while he was still half a boy. This fellow couldn't afford to lose to a kid.

The tip of the opponent's sword made contact with his arm, changing the score to 9:5, but he didn't wait to see it written on the board. He struck back immediately. The blades scraped down the side of each other, people roared. It was getting hot in here. Time to end it all.

Dropping to one knee, he stabbed directly at the man, who parried. The next blow barely missed his head; his opponent howled in frustration.

Once more they parted. He was beginning to feel dizzy, with all the heat and the smoke drifting in the air. Now or never! He sprang forward and hacked at his opponent with full force. Though the man was able to block, the sword flew out of his hand.

This was no time to be a gentleman. Without hesitation he brought down his blade, jerking it out of its shimmering arc and ramming it into the opponent's chest. Then he stood back, panting.

Voices filled the room, applause, cries, cheers. "Good on ya, kid!" bellowed Benji, jumping onto the stage and hugging him. More people followed, all congratulating him. "Splendid, boy!" – "That was grand!" – "Super!" – "You're gonna be a fine fighter someday!"

And then a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder. "Excellent", a deep voice rumbled. He recognized the man Benji had called Zero, obviously the one in charge here. "Ladies and gentlemen" – some laughed, since there were very few ladies around – "the victory goes to our newcomer here – what was your name again?"

"Anthony", Benji replied for him.

"Anthony what?"

"Just Anthony will do, Zero."

The muscular fellow eyed him with some suspicion. "Can't he speak for himself?"

"He doesn't."

"Alright." Zero shrugged. "Ladies and gentlemen, the victory goes to Anthony here. Just Anthony will do, I hear."

He handed back his prop sword, looking over at his opponent. The fellow was glaring at him.

Down among the crowd, someone raised a glass. "To the hero who conquered Master Mad!" he cried.

"To Anthony!" some others chorused.

He lowered his head, feeling a hot blush creep over his skin.

His opponent's face was a mask of rage now.


	2. Vivian

Actually he wanted to go home, but Benji insisted on buying him a drink. When they finally left the tavern, it was nearly midnight. He wondered what the nuns would have to say to this.

"Wait for me at the car", Benji said. "Just a minute. I think I'll have to speak to someone."

Shrugging, he obediently trotted towards Benji's car. He and Benji had been at the orphanage together until Benji, four years older than him, had found a job and moved out. What kind of job Benji had got he didn't know, but his old comrade certainly seemed to make a lot of money in it.

He took the car keys from his pocket to unlock the door at the passenger seat side, softly humming to himself. He had made it! He had really won!

A sudden movement behind him let him almost drop the keys. Slowly and eerily a shape dispatched itself from the darkness and approached him.

His former opponent!

Hurriedly he jammed the key into the lock, but the man was already there. "You think you have won, kiddie?" Master Mad growled. "Oh no, you haven't. That last point was not fair." Fixing him with a baleful stare, he came even closer. "How much money did you get?"

He shook his head violently. After all, Zero had given the money to Benji, and he hadn't got anything yet.

"How much?"

Again he shook his head defiantly.

"How much?" his opponent screeched, grabbing him by the jacket. "Listen, Just Anthony, you can't play this game with me! Give me the money, or I'll cut you into small bits and feed you to the ravens in my garden!"

A cloud of alcoholic stench made him feel drowsy. Where was Benji? He kicked at the man, as hard as he could, trying to make him let him go. Benji!

With a loud bang, the tavern door swung open, and a flood of light rolled over the parking lot for a moment. "Leave him, you swine!" roared Benji, coming towards his friend in quick strides.

Cursing, Master Mad turned to face the newcomer.

He used the opportunity to hit his opponent directly in the face. When Master Mad staggered away swearing, he gave him a good kick in the backside.

And then Benji caught the ambusher, and in no time they were fighting. "Stay out of that, kid", Benji commanded, using his skills as a boxer.

He could see that Benji was winning anyway, so he obeyed and just stood watching. Where had he left the key? Oh yes, in the lock. He went to retrieve it when suddenly…

"Anthony." It was a female voice, coming from behind him.

He slowly turned, squinting in the direction the voice had come from. There she was, a tall, well-built woman clad in black, walking up to him.

Automatically his fingers clenched to fists. What did she want with him?

Now they stood face to face. His eyes had adapted to the darkness well enough to see that she was dark-haired and pretty. And she was smiling at him. "I watched you fighting", she said. "You were excellent. Where did you learn that?"

He tapped his chest, signalling that he had taught himself.

She understood. "I see. So your friend wasn't lying. Listen, I'd like to have a closer look at you, and then… I might offer you a job."

Unbelievingly he stared at her. What? Offer him a job?

She held out her hand, which he took with trembling fingers. "My name is Wood, Vivian Wood. My partner could use someone like you on his staff. So let's see… Are you a very compassionate fellow?"

First he shrugged, then he shook his head. No, he didn't believe so.

"A good Christian?"

Although being raised in a Catholic orphanage since his tenth year, Christianity was not quite what suited him. He didn't like a god wanting him humble. He didn't want to humiliate himself for a being for whose existence he had no proof. So he shook his head again, hoping that the nuns would never find out about his reaction.

"Very well. You don't believe in sins and hell and Judgement Day?"

He shook his head for the third time.

"That's excellent." She gave him a warm smile, which made his insides go all tingly. "Daring fellow, are you? Someone who loves adventures?"

Feeling a grin creep onto his features, he nodded. If she only knew… He would have liked to show her his driving skills, or how well he could handle a motorbike. He wanted her to see how he jumped off the highest cliff he could find into the ocean, how he climbed the tallest trees and roamed the darkest cellars.

"Your friend just told me you never talk."

Again he nodded, not quite able to interpret her tone.

"You're not mute, are you?"

This time the answer was a headshake.

"So why don't you talk?"

Yes, why? How should he explain? Visions drifted past his inner eye, things he wanted to forget and never see again. He shuddered, then slowly shook his head again.

"Alright, keep it to yourself. I don't mind." Vivian didn't delve into the matter anymore. "I'll have you write it down if I want to know anything important from you. Good at school?"

He signalled a yes, glad she had changed the subject.

"Still going there?"

This time he shook his head. He had finished it this year, and he really wondered what he should do now. Going to school had been no problem, since the orphanage had its own, but going to university… He was not entirely sure about that. At once he felt gratitude towards Benji, who was obviously trying to help him there and get him some job.

Vivian gave him a little pat on the shoulder. "Alright. I think you should be coming with me."

Coming with her? Where? He had to go home! What would the nuns say?

But Vivian didn't heed his panicky expression. "Listen, Benji", she called over her shoulder, "I'm taking the boy with me to see what he's up to. You can have him back tomorrow evening, here and at the same time."

"Right", came Benji's answer from the gloom, accompanied by a grunt from Master Mad. "Where are the car keys?"

"You give him the car keys", Vivian said, and then you come with me."

He nodded and trotted off towards the car, retrieved the keys and brought it back to Benji. What kind of job was this? Why was this woman taking him along?

A loud thump tore him from his thoughts as the heavy body of Master Mad slumped down before his feet. "Knocked out", Benji said contentedly. "Listen, Anthony, you try to make a good, tough impression, right? You show them what a big man you are, eh?"

He nodded, attempting a smile.

"Good boy. There you go. Thanks for the keys." And he pushed his young friend off towards Vivian, towards an unknown future.


	3. On the Road

"So", said Vivian when driving out of the parking lot, "first you're going to meet my partner and hear something about the firm you might soon be working for, then we'll have some little tests. Alright?"

He nodded.

"You really don't speak?"

He shook his head.

"Fine. However you want. Anyway, you're in for a job where you needn't say anything. Efficient men are usually better than gloaters."

He tried to shoot her a bewildered glance to get an explanation for her last remark, but she ignored it.

After some time of silent driving, she addressed him again: "Do you have problems with seeing blood?"

He communicated to her that this was not the case.

"Problems with brutality?"

He shrugged. What kind of brutality? In films, he didn't mind. Against others... That depended. Against himself? Then he would fight back.

To his relief, she re-formulated the question. "Does it trouble you to be brutal with people?"

Well, that depended, too. But somehow he assumed she wanted a yes, and so she got one.

"Your normal nature?"

This time he was completely honest and shook his head.

"But you can."

Yes, he could.

"Are you a diligent worker?"

At least he supposed so and gave her another nod.

"Always done your homework?"

He had, and not too bad.

"Said your prayers?" But this time she winked at him through the mirror.

He grinned at her reflection and shook his head.

"Good boy."

For some time they drove in silence. Ahead were the lights of the city, all around them the bright lights of the cars. When he shut his eyes, he could still sense the light through his eyelids.

Vivian misinterpreted this. "Tired, are you? You can try and get some sleep until we're there."


	4. Applying for a Job

He must have fallen asleep indeed, for when opening his eyes he found himself in a small, dark garage where two expensive cars were parked. Vivian pulled into one of the spaces not yet occupied and climbed out of the car. "Come on", she said.

He got out, stretched and followed her. Somehow he got the idea that she was watching him closely, that she was analysing every move he made. Trying to walk bolt upright and in forceful strides, he marched after her into a lift. Vivian pressed a button, and up they went. It seemed to him that their trip lasted for ages. Finally the doors slid open and he was in the most exciting homestead he had ever seen.

Through a glass door he and Vivian entered a flat high above the city. Never before had he seen anything like this. Almost all the walls were made of glass; one had a marvellous view out over the pattern of lights below. This must have cost a fortune, he thought. Whoever lived here must be very rich indeed.

Vivian locked the door behind them. "So", she said, absolutely at ease in this place. "My partner will turn up soon now. Pray be seated."

The living room was wide and spacey, and the glass wall curved in a graceful arc. Probably the whole flat was round, he assumed. Or at least half round.

Could they be seen from outside? Probably not; they were high up over the city. Still the transparent wall gave him a certain feeling of uneasiness he could not quite lay a finger upon. Forcing himself to appear completely calm, he nodded at the woman gratefully and slumped into a soft brown leather sofa.

"Now, Anthony. Do you have any idea what kind of job your friend suggested for you?"

Of course he had wondered. But he had not the faintest idea. So he shrugged while shooting Vivian a quizzical look to signal his interest.

"Hmmm." She gave him exactly that sort of mysterious smile parents tend to reserve for their children when Christmas is approaching and there is some secretive business going on. "You'll find out, trust me." She sat down close beside him, and his nostrils caught a faint, sweet scent, probably perfume. "You know, I'd like you to make a bit of conversation now, if you don't mind." With this a notepad and a pen were pushed into his unresisting hands. "So, tell me what you can do. Something about your skills. Just what comes to your mind."

What did she mean by that? The subjects he'd had at school? What types of cars he could drive? The sports he could do? How far he could jump?

"Just what comes to your mind", she repeated, smiling, when she saw his irritated look. "I won't be watching you if that makes you nervous." With that she rose and sauntered over to the glass wall, thoughtfully gazing down at the city lights.

He followed her with his eyes, and he was utterly unable to ignore a nasty little thought at the back of his mind, telling him that being alone with a woman like Vivian was a nice idea indeed, and in what things it might result if he was lucky…

Slowly she turned, and her eyes passed over him. Embarrassed for gaping at her like that, he bent down to the notepad and started writing, dragging the tip of the pen over the paper very carefully, trying to form the flow of the ink into his finest handwriting. _I can drive cars and_ _motorbikes and also trucks (but only if they're small)._ Actually he had never driven a truck yet, but it wouldn't sound too bad, and he assumed he could cope with a little one. What else? The languages he spoke? Good idea. _I speak English and Romanian, some French, German and Spanish and_ _a bit of Latin._ Well, that he _spoke_ these languages was exaggerated, he noted, feeling his embarrassment grow. So he struck out _speak_ carefully and scribbled _understand_ above it.

Oh no. He was making a horrible mess of that.

Again Vivian seemed to be able to read his mind. "Just anything you can think of", she said. "Anything that might come in useful. Whatever you're good at."

Smiling shyly at her, he considered it for a moment. Just anything he was good at? Oh, alright. He took a deep breath and continued underneath what he had written already: _Although I have never really learned it, I'm not too bad at fencing. I'm also quite capable of fighting someone hand-to-hand. As I've always been good at sports, I would probably prove an apt pupil if you would mind to teach me some Martial Arts._

Reading this paragraph again, he found that it didn't sound too bad. With new energy he plunged on: _I have some acrobatic skills (take flips and handstands etc. for example) and can climb almost everything that stands still long enough, and quite a lot of things that don't, too._ At this little attempt of humour he grinned. _You might find that I'm hard to knock out of_ _balance. I'm not afraid of heights, and I'm not afraid of jumping off cliffs. _That directly led himto another idea: _I think I can call myself an expert swimmer and diver._ Maybe he had never tried real scuba-diving, but he needn't mention it, he thought. Snorkelling had to do. Besides, he could dive without equipment just as well (but of course not for too long), so he really wasn't lying._ I have some idea of surfing and sailing. I can ride horses and bicycles (although I have to admit that I'm much better at the latter)._ Yes, he could ride a horse when someone was leading it by the bridle. But no need to mention _that_.

"Seems you've acquired quite a lot of things in such a short time", Vivian laughed, watching him scribble away furiously.

Looking up at her, a grin sneaked upon his face. And there were still a lot more things that he could do!

Next paragraph. _I'm a quick learner; I don't take long with either practising a move or memorizing texts and poems. Be sure I remember and carry out instructions as I'm supposed to do._

What had Vivian said back in the car? If he could be brutal when he wanted to? After a moment of thought he therefore added: _In such situations I'm not too scrupulous concerning people getting in the way._

Wow. Sounded like an assassin's job application.

An assassin's job application? What job was he applying for? Some job where brutality obviously might come in very useful.

And what had that strange remark been again? _Efficient men are usually better than gloaters._ That was it. She had said that while they were driving to this place, and he had wondered what she meant. Now the answer was suddenly there, dancing tangibly before his eyes: An assassin who killed efficiently and without delay was faster than one who took pleasure in gloating at his victim's pain. And the victim stood less of a chance against the efficient one.

Oh _man_.

Maybe she meant something else, he hurried to think. No, she can't be looking for a killer. Not a woman like her. And Benji wouldn't try to make me a criminal.

And then something most irritating occurred to him: He didn't actually know what Benji did for a living. He merely knew that it earned him some money.

Quite a lot of money, to be exact.

Benji, his friend Benji a… murderer?

His eyes darted back at Vivian, at her alluring figure and pretty features. Would a woman like her really be in contact with criminals?

_Why not?_ asked a nasty little voice from the back of his head.

Oh, come on, boy, you're imagining things! Angry with himself, he turned his attention back to the notepad and tried to concentrate. _I can play the recorder and the piano a bit_ he came up with. _I know how to use a computer more or less. Although I don't speak, I think I have some skills concerning acting. I can also dance, but I don't like it too much. _Well, actually it was not the dancing itself he didn't like. It was the circumstances. There were very few girls who would dance with him. Most of the others stayed out of his way. It seemed that they were somehow afraid of him, a fact which sometimes made him proud, but sometimes grieved him. He was a loner. "It's your eyes", a girl from the orphanage had said once. "You've got scary eyes sometimes. They're so cold. And when you stare at someone… sometimes, you know… one is getting the idea that you're… quite capable of murder. Sorry about that", she had hurried to continue. "Don't take offence at it. It's just what they're saying."

Quite capable of murder…

_Some people are afraid of my eyes_ he wrote. _I'm good at that special stare._ To give it a little try, he glared hard at the notepad and imagined it writhing and withering under his eyes, savouring the feeling this gave him.

Wow.

With determination, he added: _Some say that I look quite capable of murder._

Very nice. Very impressive.

Yes, but what if Vivian was about to offer him the job of, say, a bank accountant?

No, probably not. She had sounded mysterious enough. It couldn't be anything as common as that.

_What? You're now hoping she's offering you the assassin's job?_ his conscience asked, highly alert suddenly.

_Oh, shut up!_ he mentally shot back. It needn't be the assassin. It could just be… a spy. A spy, yes. A spy was good. A spy was exciting.

What else was there to write about himself? _I'm not complicated; I don't complain about anything. Maybe some people are frightened of me, but I'm not that unpleasant a chap to work with. And I certainly don't ask stupid questions._

Nice joke, boy, he thought sarcastically. Nothing else to tell her about you?

_I can make scrambled eggs_ he finished lamely, then gave the notepad back to Vivian. Currently there was nothing else that came to his mind. But he was sure that he would think of something clever very soon now and be highly annoyed he hadn't thought of it earlier.

Vivian carefully read through what he had written down. Suddenly he was very aware that it might sound silly, that she might laugh at him. Why on earth had he written that rubbish about his eyes?

"Very interesting", Vivian said finally, not showing if she had noticed his embarrassment or not. "Skilful fellow, are you?"

He forced himself to a grin, feeling his cheeks burn. Please don't let me go red in the face right now…

"Show me that particular stare", Vivian said. To his great surprise and even greater relief, she wasn't laughing.

I won't be able to. I'll do it all wrong. She'll burst out laughing as soon as I try.

Well, he told himself, he had to. It was worth a try.

Now how was it done? Just a minute ago he had managed it and felt great about it.

He could do it again. Imagining nobody was looking at him, he narrowed his eyes. Automatically his eyebrows slid into position, and the next moment he was getting that feeling again. Pressing his lips together so that they would look thin and white, he gave the air two inches from Vivian's head the coldest and most baleful glare he could manage.

"Oh." She almost seemed impressed. "Can you narrow your eyes a little bit more? So that they become slits?"

He did what she told him to, believing to feel the gentle throbbing of blood in his lips.

"And now cock your head forward a tiny bit – excellent! – and turn your face a little bit away from me, without looking anywhere else. Exactly. Boy, you're a natural."

This came so unexpected for him that his features shifted into an expression of bewildered surprise, which in turn made Vivian laugh. "Hasn't anybody told you yet?"

Almost retreating into the sofa, he shook his head. He must have looked really, really stupid right now.

"High time someone told you, then." Still laughing, she slumped onto the sofa next to him and nudged him in the ribs. "Cheer up, it was really good. You know what? Until my partner arrives, why don't you make us some scrambled eggs, master cook? I'm starving."

Mentally he gave himself a slap. It had been no good idea, definitely, putting _that_ on the list! But there was no way out of it right now. Helplessly he followed Vivian into the kitchen.

The first thing he noticed was that they had the same spectacular view from the kitchen; here the walls were made of glass too. The second thing was that this kitchen was much larger and cleaner than he had imagined it. Of course there was a large kitchen at the orphanage, but there was always a bit of untidiness about it, something he sorely missed about this one. It looked so… sterile. It made him uneasy.

"There you go, darling", Vivian said lightly, tossing him a small saucepan, which he managed to catch single-handed. "And there. And there." Very soon he found himself surrounded by ingredients. Was this one of the tests she had mentioned? But this was ridiculous!

Well, the easier it would be for him. He would show her that a hearth was absolutely no obstacle in his way. Without much trouble he got it running, whistling to himself as he did. When he had been a small boy, he recalled clearly that he had whistled very often. Later on, at that particular time he did not want to think of anymore, he had stopped it. But later, in his teenage years, he had returned to the old habit. Whistling made him feel more relaxed in most cases, and when it didn't, it at least made others believe that he was relaxed and at ease with himself.

Behind his back, Vivian was working with something, but he didn't dare to turn around to check what she was doing, in case she was watching him. After a few minutes, when a friendly smell began to fill the kitchen, she came over to have a look.

"Very nice", she stated, resting one hand between his shoulder blades.

He gave a little growl, unable to suppress it as, again, some slightly dirty thoughts crossed his mind.

Vivian ignored it. "I wonder", she said, mustering him, "what you should wear in your job, if my partner takes you."

He shot her a quizzical look before turning his attention back to the pan.

"Well, you certainly can't go like that. That wouldn't be… stylish", she answered with a strange little laugh.

Scanning his jeans and sweater critically, he found nothing wrong with them. What did she mean? There wasn't anything wrong with his clothes! Maybe the sleeves were getting somewhat thin at the elbows, but that was all.

"I wonder", Vivian continued, "how a suit would look on you."

At this he gave her an agonized look. He felt much better in his normal clothes. Besides, the nuns kept telling him to keep still on the rare occasions when he had to wear a suit. Seemingly he had the rather useless ability of almost immediately crumpling up everything he wore.

"We'll give it a try", Vivian insisted. "I'm a better judge than you when it comes to that."

To this he didn't react, although it quite annoyed him. Probably she was right, even if he hated to admit that.

She left the kitchen, accompanied by a clatter of plates, which made him guess that they would have a meal. Soon she returned. "Turn round for a moment", she ordered.

Just about to use some salt and pepper, he stopped in the course of doing so and faced her. Vivian was smiling roguishly, some clothes suspiciously looking like a suit and a white shirt over her arm. "Leave the eggs to me and put that on. It might be about your size."

Putting salt and pepper down, he considered this for a moment. Was this one of the orders he had promised to carry out? Then it seemed that he had no choice. Suppressing a sigh, he took the clothes from Vivian and went out, leaving the cooking to her.


	5. Eric Knox

Nothing had changed at all when he returned to the kitchen. And yet it appeared to him that things were… different. Nonsense, he told himself. Only because you're wearing a pinstriped suit for the first time in your life, you silly little boy…

And yet he felt like somebody else, much more like a grown man than he had ever felt before. Like a real elegant gentleman, he thought. Like someone accepted in every job. Benji should see him now.

What did Benji look like when he was at work? What did he put on? He tried to imagine Benji in a suit, but failed utterly at that. No, Benji wasn't the type for that. Benji rather was the type for black leather. There was nothing elegant about him.

Vivian looked him up and down and gave him a content smile. "Looking good."

He grinned with pride.

"However", she continued with a slight frown, "you should work a bit on your tie knot. It doesn't quite look as it's supposed to."

Embarrassed, he tried to eye the knot, which was somewhat difficult owing to its position. This, in turn, made Vivian laugh. "Here, let me do it." And to his even greater embarrassment, she tied it properly. "Never mind", she said comfortingly, "binding a tie is not on the job description."

Attempting a grin, he wished she would change the topic.

Which she did. "Are you hungry?"

Without much consideration, he nodded. That tiny cramp in his stomach brought the message across well enough.

"Then take this." She pushed a tray into his hands, laden with ham, cheese and the scrambled eggs. "The rest is waiting outside." With two bottles of mineral water , one under each arm, she followed him.

They sat down at the table in the living room, she with her back to the glass front, he facing it. "Personally, I'm starving", Vivian admitted, already helping herself to a roll. "Tuck in."

They ate in silence. To his relief, his scrambled eggs were much better than his tie knot had been. And now he was grateful for the perfect table manners instilled on him at the orphanage, for Vivian seemed to be watching him closely. When would that partner she had mentioned turn up? He wondered if the clothes he wore were this man's, and what the guy would say if he saw him like that.

Thoughtfully he looked out into the night beyond the glass. What more would Vivian and her partner ask of him? What did they need him for? Was he the right one for that job?

A few stars were twinkling down at him from between wisps of clouds, like eyes watching him. Suddenly the idea occurred to him that somebody was indeed watching him from up there, through the glass window. He cuddled deeper into his seat, gazing intently at the stars. They were like… eyes. Angel eyes.

Silly, he told himself. There were no angels.

And there was no god. At least not a Christian god. Maybe there were some Ancient Greek gods. And some Ancient German gods, and some Ancient Egyptian gods. Maybe Celtic gods. But not a Christian one. Rather beings he could understand than something remote and illogical. A god that was omnipotent had to be above everything. A god that was omnipotent would not listen to lowly prayers. An omnipotent god would not heed such petty problems as people had. And an omnipotent god would not humiliate himself and be crucified.

And something that was omnipotent could not only be good. It would have to be evil, as well.

Except Lucifer was a god, too. That would explain a great deal. However, that Christian fellow up in Heaven would be much diminished then.

A nice and proper explanation, such a struggle between the gods of good and evil. He liked that one.

And which side would he be on? Tough question. He was not a bad chap by nature. But he felt mysteriously drawn to the Dark Side…

Footsteps behind his back made him freeze and abandon his thoughts. Vivian smiled at a point above his head. "Hello", she said.

"Hello", a male voice answered cheerfully.

Vivian kept smiling. "Meet Anthony, hopefully our new employee."

Jumping to his feet, he spun around to face the newcomer. How should he greet him? Should he shake his hand? Or should he just nod?

The man looked him up and down critically, and he had the time to eye him in return. Young, almost boyish, the stranger was hard to categorize. He had dishevelled brown hair and cocoa brown eyes and wore a grin just as cheerful as his voice. "I'm Eric Knox", he presented himself. "Owner of Knox Technologies, a rather new communications software company. Pleased to meet you." And he held out a hand.

He took it, pressed his lips together and nodded curtly. Knox's handshake was firm, the handshake of a determined man.

"I hope you feel at home here", Knox continued politely.

Again he nodded, trying to force some content onto his features.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

Sheepishly he shook his head and cast Vivian a pleading glance.

"He never talks", Vivian sprang to his aid. "Rather mysterious gentleman."

He knew this question was coming now. "Mute, is he?"

"As far as I know, no."

Knox looked at him like at a very strange exotic animal. "So why doesn't he?"

"No idea", said Vivian, shrugging. "He didn't tell me."

"Of course. He wouldn't tell you anything." Knox grinned at his remark; Vivian merely rolled her eyes at this weak joke. "Then how did he get through the job interview?"

"I had him write it down."

"Great, let me see."

Feeling very self-conscious, he stood around while Knox read what he had written earlier. He's going to laugh, he thought. Vivian maybe took me more or less seriously, but Knox is going to laugh. Damn it, is this _his_ suit I'm wearing?

"Not bad, not bad", Knox finally commented, handing the notepad back to Vivian. "Seems you can do about everything, from climbing to cooking."

"He already passed the cooking test", Vivian said, winking. "I think we can go straight to the climbing."

Knox grinned at her. "Some say the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach…"

"Oh, cut that, Eric. Besides, it's about men, not women."

The best way to a woman's heart… He got the nasty suspicion that he blushed furiously at that.

"I particularly like the part about the glaring", Knox said pensively. "I always liked a good glare out of murderous eyes."

"Oh, Eric… We don't need a movie villain! I have to admit it, he's not bad, but I first want to see what else he can do."

"Hey, hey! Nothing against a movie villain!" Knox protested.

"Don't be silly! You don't need an actor – although he states he's quite capable of acting, too – but someone to… oh, well."

He gave her a quizzical look, but she didn't heed him at all. Why on earth wouldn't she pronounce what they needed him for?

"A real movie villain can be somewhat – well, intimidating", Knox argued. "A little bit of acting wouldn't be bad, you know."

Vivian shook her head resolutely. "I don't want a gloater in this job."

"If he really is a fine actor, he can play that part just as well as the other. I mean, I'm also good at playing that laddie part."

At this Vivian smiled. "No doubt, you are. Well, maybe you have a point. He won't only be doing… you know what."

If they could just stop being so secretive! After all, he would really like to know what kind of job this was they wanted to hire him for.

"You said his name's Anthony?" Knox asked. "Is this his first name or his last name?"

"Well, I don't think he has any other name. Morgan said he's just called Anthony."

Morgan? Of course, Benji was registered as Benjamin Daniel Morgan, he knew that. So Knox knew Benji. At least he knew the name.

"Morgan himself brought him in? Another orphanage boy?"

"So he said. Probably part of a Romanian circus troupe, but he said he didn't know for sure, because the boy never talked. He was eleven when they brought him to the orphanage, with a heavy trauma and in handcuffs."

"In handcuffs? Little devil!" Knox burst into laughter. "What did you do, burn the circus down?"

He flinched and clenched his teeth, fighting the memories suddenly coming back to his mind. Shaking his head violently, he tried to shake them off, knowing at the same time with bitter certainness that he would never be able to dispose of them.

"In handcuffs, really." Knox was still grinning, heedless of his job candidate's obvious pain. "Hey, wow! Just look at the way he holds his jaw! The whole face's gone stony. Splendid, that."

This was giving himself away! He tried to clear his face of all emotions, make it go cold and empty…

"And that's not bad, either." Knox beamed at him. "Vivian, that's just the man." He shook his head in amazement. "Where did you get those miraculous eyes?"

He shrugged helplessly, feeling events had taken a very unexpected twist, and an unpleasant one, too.

Walking around him as if on inspection, Knox clapped him on the shoulder. "Creep", he said. "I think I like you."

Something inside his stomach contracted. Calm down, he thought. Calm down. Easy. You want this job, remember?

But then again, did he really want it anymore?

"You didn't put him through any practical tests yet", Vivian reminded her partner.

"He's got the potential", Knox decided. "For how long can I enjoy his worthy company?"

"Tomorrow evening I'm bringing him back", Vivian informed him.

"Fine." Knox thrust his hands into the pockets of his baggy khaki trousers. "You know The Rocky Horror Picture Show, buddy?"

He nodded, somewhat surprised at the question.

"Good. In twenty-four hours I'll make you a man, baby."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "Stop quoting that silly movie."

"And you have some style, too, concerning your clothes", Knox went on, ignoring Vivian.

"These are yours, you know."

"What?"

"I had him put them on, just to see if they suit him."

"I understand." Knox didn't seem angry about it. "Well, he can keep the stuff if he wants. I don't like suits anyway."

"Sometimes you just _have_ to wear a suit", Vivian reproached him, and it seemed that they had gone through this topic more than once already. "Besides, look at him closer. The trousers are a bit short for him. And he's a little bit too broad in the shoulders for your jacket."

"Oh. Wouldn't have noticed that." But it was obvious that he didn't care at all, as well. "So, Anthony. Let's see about you. How about taking you for a walk?"


	6. Fear Chase

Knox grinned. "Let's have some fun."

Watching Vivian disappear into the gloom, he didn't quite trust that fun. The hill flank below Knox's penthouse fell rather steeply down towards the dim lights of some suburban area of the city. And Vivian seemed to be going just down there, climbing over stones and tree roots. Not very gentleman-like of Knox to let her do it, he thought. And what for?

He would have to go down there, too. Maybe through some course with booby-traps. Maybe through a real traps parcours. Maybe he had to fight someone down there. Maybe… Oh, stop it, he told himself. Your imagination is running wild again.

Knox was sauntering up and down beside him, again mustering him critically. He tried to stand bolt upright and make a good impression.

Was it really a good idea to wear that suit for this… trial? Knox had insisted that he did, but he had no idea why.

However. He thrust his hands into his pockets, and continued staring into the gloom. Somewhere the faint cry of a night bird could be heard, then everything was silent again, the peace of the night interrupted only by the rustling of leaves in the wind. They were so far from the city that the traffic wasn't audible up here.

What would they say at the orphanage when he didn't turn up? Would they worry? Or would Benji tell them something? And if so, what would he tell them?

He thought of his roommates, Jake, Graham, Mart, Dan and Kenny. Would they miss him? They had shared a room for years now. Kenny would move out soon now, and so would Graham and Dan, probably. A pity. But then again, they all were young men now. They didn't have to live at the orphanage anymore. He himself didn't have to just as well.

But where else should he go?

The time would come when Jake and Mart would leave the orphanage, and then he alone was left of them.

This idea didn't suit him at all. Among these boys were the closest to friends he had ever had - at least, since that day he strived not to remember. Together they had formed a little gang, hanging out together. Graham and Dan had been fine comrades. And Jake had been a real friend. Who would there be left for him when they were gone?

Well, Kid would still be there, of course. But… Let's put it like that: Kid didn't really count.

So there he was. The others would go, and once again he would be left out.

At this thought the painful flickering in his stomach returned, that feeling he had learned to dread over all those years. Fear, fear to be alone with himself. Fear to be on his own. Fear to have to listen to the voices inside his mind, the cruel voices of memory.

There were two different kinds of darkness. One was a dangerous one, a place where all the things he was afraid of were hiding. But there was another, a warm, comforting one, hiding him from others' eyes. If he had to go down there, nobody would see him go. He would disappear out of Knox's eyeshot, and then he would be alone. But not in the way he feared to be. Down there no danger was waiting for him. He would just be alone, alone to be himself, and when he wished to reappear, he would be able to. Somehow he wished to descend towards the lights.

And somehow his own way of thinking could astound him.

A thin, pale moon was rising over the dark line of the lofty hills. Slowly the fear inside him retreated, withered to a grey mist and vanished.

He was ready for anything.

Knox's cell phone rang, piercing the peace of the night. Very lazily Knox answered it. "Yeah? Right, I'm sending him." Sliding it back into his pocket, he said: "Go. Straight down there. As fast as you can."

Right. He understood. Giving Knox a curt nod, he sprang over the sidewalk lightly and down towards the night awaiting him. Down, straight down.

It wasn't easy. The steeply falling ground was full off bushes and roots and stones. Soon he almost slipped on a patch of loose soil, but caught himself just in time and sprinted on. There was a kind of hedge ahead, like a crouching animal… He leaped, cleared it easily. Cool air rushed past his ears. And another one…

This time the jump was badly calculated. His right foot got caught in some branches; he tugged hard while still in the air, but couldn't help hitting the ground. At once the air was knocked out of his lungs. The smell of grass and earth was unnaturally strong suddenly. Dazed, he rolled over, tried to get hold of another bush to pull himself up, but merely rubbed some skin off his hand. He felt he was rolling down the side of the hill, towards an unknown destination. Something bored into his side; something lashed at his face. Whimpering, he shielded his face with the hurt hand while trying to get a hold and stop his progress with the other one. Suddenly he hit a low tree and remained lying where he was, breathing hard, feeling every inch of his body with an intensity he had never felt before.

No, wait. He had. A memory was slipping into his mind, expanding until it was stuck there, filling his consciousness. Before his inner eye, the worst moment of his life started to be replayed in slow motion, bit by bit…

No! Somehow he managed to pull himself up and ran for it, as if his memories were chasing him down the hillside. His heart was pounding all through his body. Again he fell, but this time he could pick himself up before he started rolling. The lights were coming closer and closer, and he dashed towards them as if that could save his life.

"Hey there!" It was Vivian. Panting, he skidded to a halt in front of her, exhausted and with aching limbs. "Quite a speed", she remarked, not wholly able to hide her amazement. "Dear me, you're bleeding." From the depths of her pocket she pulled a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheek a bit. "Very well, now back up you go!"

Back up? He fought for air. No, he would never make it back up at that speed.

But he would try, and if it was impossible. He would try. They should see how tough he was.

With this thought he sped off, even though his legs almost refused to carry him. He ignored the pain in his limbs, the burning in his lungs. As fast as he could he climbed up the slope, skidding every now and again, but nonetheless going forward, ever forward, and upwards.

And then the faint fear was back, the fear of the unknown, of the eyes glaring at him from the darkness. Nonsense, he told himself while racing up the slope, picking his way between roots and stones. Yet he distinctly knew that he wouldn't be able to stop right now if he wanted to.

When he reached the street again, he was close to collapsing. His pulse was hammering furiously; he could feel it in his neck. It felt like his veins would burst any minute. His knees were all wobbly; he was shivering like a tired racing horse. But Knox was coming up to meet him; he wouldn't show any signs of weakness before this man.

And Knox definitely seemed impressed. "Astounding", he said, shaking his head in something like unbelieving awe. "Really astounding. You know, we sometimes send one of our… well, employees down that slope for a little agility test. But no-one among their number was nearly that fast."

Despite his exhaustion and the many stings of pain, a smile stole onto his features. So he had been good after all.

"Never mind the suit", Knox continued, and he looked down himself and was embarrassed at the state of the clothes that were not even his. But Knox didn't seem to care. "At least the whole thing was done with style", he said, grinning.

He grinned back, but at the same time something like a cold finger touched his spine, and with some shuddering he remembered what had made him run like that.

Someday he had to get rid of those absurd feelings. He couldn't go on like that.

And yet he knew that he wouldn't be able to unless he could finally speak to somebody. And this he couldn't. So there was nobody who would ever listen to his fears.

He was trapped, trapped with his fears.

Somehow the blood trickling down his cheek was strangely comforting.


	7. Some Embarrassment

They took him back to Knox's apartment, where Vivian took him to the bathroom – the most fancy one he had ever seen, although he hadn't seen that many yet – to clean the scratches on his hands and cheek. Then she told him to wait where he was and disappeared.

Shrugging to himself, he sauntered up and down on the fluffy red carpet. He had left his sneakers by the door because they were dirty, but suddenly he felt ashamed of his once white, now rather yellowish tennis socks. There even was a small hole in one. Hopefully Vivian didn't notice.

He stopped in front of the mirror, regarded his pale face. Icy blue eyes blinked at him from under a dishevelled mane of dark brown, strewn with a few leaves and bits of grass. Smiling apologetically at himself, he picked them out and dropped them into the bin. He still looked a mess. Probably he would need a haircut soon.

At the mere thought he flinched. There was hardly anything he hated more than haircuts.

Maybe they would stop cutting his hair someday now. After all, for the last few years he hadn't been that easy to hold. Maybe they would just quit and let him be. They knew he hated it. And he fought every time. Maybe they would give in, and then he would just let his hair grow. Short hair was easier to care for than long hair, but he wouldn't mind, if they'd just stop those nasty haircuts.

What would they say when they saw that cut in his face? Would they worry? Would they fuss over him?

He had to admit to himself that he rather liked the cut. It made him look dashing.

When he heard the door behind him, he spun around. Vivian was back, giving him a rogue smile. Again she had some clothes over her arm, and again they were not his. "So", she said. "We're going out, my friend. I've found you something suitable."

He didn't feel too well about wearing stuff belonging to Knox, but he better didn't protest. It seemed both Vivian and Knox wanted him to.

"You like black, don't you?"

He nodded. That hadn't been hard to guess; after all, he had worn a black sweater and black jeans when Vivian had taken him here.

"Rather a Gothic type, eh?" she commented, laughing.

To this he didn't know a reply, so he just shrugged.

"Well, I've brought a few things for you." When she hung them over the rim of the fancy white and gold bathtub, he tried to find out what exactly she had brought for him, but all he saw was that all things were black. She helped him out of the dirty, slightly torn jacket and threw it directly onto a heap of clothes awaiting the services of a washing machine patiently in a corner. "The shirt too. Come on."

Slowly he started unbuttoning the shirt. Vivian was watching him, and that made him nervous. Couldn't she look the other way while he was changing into other clothes? Well, he actually didn't mind if she just saw him shirtless, but he didn't like the way she was looking at him. If she were a man… well, that gaze would also make him uneasy, but not that much. He wondered what Vivian would say if she was taking her blouse off and he was ogling her like that.

Oh, that was a nice idea. When he thought about that, he'd actually like to watch her taking some clothes off.

He dropped the discarded shirt onto the jacket and then faced her, flexing his muscles a bit to make a better impression.

She mustered him critically, then gave him a short nod. "Fine. You seem to be in a good condition. I think I know what to give you." She sat down on the tub and started searching for some particular piece of clothing. "In the meantime you'll be a good boy and take your trousers off, won't you? I assume you wear something beneath them."

Yes, he was wearing those silly Garfield boxers Kid had given him last Christmas. But that wasn't the only thing bothering him. Standing in front of a woman he hardly knew in his underwear was definitely not what he called a nice prospect, especially if she used such a critical look on him.

"Come on", she said, still searching. "Didn't you claim to be a good swimmer? I suppose you don't swim in a diving suit, or do you?"

He shook his head, afraid that he might blush. Come on, he told himself, it won't hurt.

He just wished he had put on some different underpants this morning.

Vivian's lips shifted into what he would call a cultivated grin. "Nice boxers."

He chose to stare at the fluffy carpet.

"You're more the type for those tight shorties, if you ask me." She tossed him another pair of black trousers and a black leather belt. "Here you are."

He hurried to put them on. They were tailored like jeans, but of a softer material, probably cotton, and had pockets at the sides. Nice. He liked that kind of clothing.

"And now the little surprise", she said mockingly. "Eric's rather fond of these."

He caught it with his left hand in what he judged to be an extremely cool way and examined it. It was black, too, but it looked suspiciously like an undershirt. When he pulled it over his head, he realized that it was rather tight, too.

"Like it?" Again that mocking tone in her voice. "Well, it suits you. Here's the matching shirt, but wear it open, mind you. Just like Eric. Here's a good boy."

And this was how he was going out? In an undershirt? Oh dear, what would the nuns say to that?

Once more he began to wonder where this all was leading to.


	8. Night Ride

"Hey, you put that creep into my favourite outfit!" Knox exclaimed. He was standing in the doorway of what was probably his bedroom, dressed very much the same.

"Why not? It suits him", Vivian retorted.

"I'm warning you. Don't fall for him." It wasn't only mock jealousy; he spotted that easy enough.

"What if I do?" she answered, teasing him.

Again he considered looking at the carpet a wise reaction.

"You don't", Knox growled.

"You needn't worry", she replied in a silky, very seductive tone that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, even though she wasn't addressing him.

"That's fine then", Knox purred back, walking over to her and embracing her. As the two of them kissed, he turned away. It was none of his business.

But somehow he wished Vivian was kissing _him_ instead of Knox.

Earlier in his life, he had got enough kisses. His parents had always kissed him good-night back in those days when he had still been a small, sorrowless child. Later, when he had come to live at the orphanage, he had from time to time got a kiss from one of the nuns. But they had stopped that when he had started to grow up. Occasionally he got a hug, but no kisses.

But he had never been kissed by a girl yet.

Jake and Graham didn't have a girlfriend, either. Kenny was also single, though he had had one some years ago. But Dan and Mart… Mart even visited his girlfriend in her dormitory. Dan had done that too, once, and so had Kenny, he believed. Jake could often be found flirting. And Graham never had any difficulty to find a girl which would dance with him, even if there where hardly any girls and a great lot of boys.

Only he himself, he was a loner.

What about Kid? He didn't know. But Kid was probably interested in other things than love. Kid was more into movies and football and anything on wheels.

"Right, Anthony", Knox's voice interrupted his stream of thought. "Let's get going, shall we?"

"And take that notepad with you", Vivian added.

He picked it up from the table, along with the pen, and followed the others out once more.

They led him down to the garage. "I learned you can drive", Knox said.

To this he nodded eagerly. Now that was something he really could.

There were four cars now altogether, the two he had seen before, Vivian's and another one, the one Knox had probably arrived in, a sleek, black one that spoke to him in an alluring tone.

"This one", said Knox, pointing to a gleaming Ferrari and tossing him the key. "You're driving."

Grinning, he got into the car, tossing the notepad onto the backseat, and examined it with rapt passion. Wow. Never before had he tried such a splendid car. Must have cost an enormous amount of money.

He realized that Knox and Vivian were watching him expectantly. Probably they wanted to see if he could handle it.

Of course he could! And they should see how! He brought the driver seat into a position that suited him and fastened his seatbelt, just like he had been taught when he had learned to drive. Then, kicking the clutch down, he started the engine. Its drone sent vibrations of pleasure through his body. Controls flashed before him and faded again. The car was ready, at his command.

"Drive it out", Knox commanded. "We'll get in outside."

Right. He put in the backwards gear, glad that this one was easier to put in than the one on the driving school car, where he had first had to figure out how to get it working. Now don't forget the indicator. So, perfect. And now… He gently, lovingly touched the gas, listening to the whine of the engine climb up slightly. Right. Let the clutch go… carefully… yes, this was the point. He let the pedal go just a tiny bit more… and the car moved backwards smoothly. He steered it in an elegant curve back towards the wall so that he could drive it out straight. Then he kicked the clutch again. First gear. The indicator lever snapped back on its own. Good. And now… forward.

When he headed out of the garage, he knew that his driving teacher would be proud of him now. Definitely. But more important was that he had shown Knox he was up to driving his car, even if he saw it for the first time.

He stopped in front of the garage and waited for Knox and Vivian to get in. Knox took the seat beside him; Vivian climbed onto the backseat and almost sat on the notepad. He waited for them to settle in comfortably, his left foot planted firmly on the clutch pedal. Letting it slip now would be… well, embarrassing. Travelling off with a violent jump wasn't what impressed employers.

"Right", said Knox. "Now listen, buddy. I'm telling you where to go, you just go there. You do whatever I say. Understand?"

He answered with a nod. Well, that couldn't be that hard. Switching on the lights, he awaited Knox's further instructions.

Knox directed him down the hill, urging him to go fast. Even though he loved speed, he didn't feel too well about that. It was dark, after all. If someone jumped from the side of the road into his way, it might be too late already. But he did Knox's bidding. Knox shouldn't think he was afraid of going faster than he normally would.

Concerning the gears, he did quite well. Changing from the first into the second had always been his least favourite gear change, but it was much better than it had been sometimes. Very often there had been a little jerk when he trod on the clutch and released it again. This time, he managed to do it so smoothly that he himself wouldn't have noticed he had changed the gear hadn't he known he had just done it.

This was better than running down steep slopes, and definitely better than cooking. Or taking his clothes off with Vivian watching.

Or binding a tie knot. He suppressed a sigh.

The car was an open one, so he enjoyed the wind whipping at his hair. As Knox announced they would be taking the highway, he couldn't hide a joyful grin. Wind in his hair and the rush of adrenaline as he made use of the gas pedal… exactly what he liked.

"You just turn right over there", Knox instructed him.

Very well. Time to change the lane, then. He checked what was behind him in the mirrors and then cast a glance over his shoulder. Indicator. Whoops, wrong one. Stupid. He hurried to correct his mistake. But Knox didn't even notice.

As soon as they were on the highway, Knox said: "Listen here. This is a four-lane highway, so I don't want you to go and try the crawler lane. Never mind speed limits. The leftmost lane is where you go, right?"

He couldn't but nod. Sounded like fun, he told himself. Only he had never gone that fast.

However, this time he did, and Knox was beaming like a child. Silly fellow. He ignored him, enjoying the high speed instead, all bad feelings of merely minutes ago forgotten.

Vivian leaned forward. "Are you boys having a good time?" she teased them.

"You bet", Knox grinned.

He didn't say anything, but grinned just as well.

All too soon Knox told him to get off the highway, then directed him through some little village. Before some tavern a bit away from the houses he told him to park the car.

Oh dear. Parking. He didn't like that at all. It had been his weak spot at driving school. But again he managed to pull it off perfectly.

"Good", Knox commented. "You seem to be a fine driver. Just answer me one question: What do you need a seatbelt for?"

Frowning, he fished the notepad from the backseat, pulled the pen from his pocket and wrote: _Flying through the windscreen is not actually my concept of having fun in a car._

"Right. But don't you like the risk?"

_Sure I do_, he wrote. _But not that way_.

Knox shrugged. Really, what did that guy want, he thought with some annoyance. Even car racers had seatbelts, so what? Besides, it just belonged to the ritual.

Changing the topic, Knox asked: "ever been in a tavern brawl?"

He considered this for a moment, then wrote: _Does a tavern swordfight count?_

Knox looked at Vivian, who nodded. "I watched him. He did quite well."

"Did he take on all of the drinkers in there single-handedly?"

"No. There was just one opponent."

And that guy was hard enough, he thought, trying to keep his face straight. Vivian made it sound as if it had been nothing at all.

"I'll pick you a nice _real_ tavern brawl", Knox promised, grinning.


	9. Quite a Tavern Brawl

They crowded together in the shadows of the bar's entrance. "I know the bartender", Knox whispered. "He won't report anything to the police. I'll just pay for the damage. The two of you go in and take a seat. You act as if you didn't knew me. Then I come and go to the bar. First I'll talk to the bartender, then I'll offer some thug a bunch of dollars if he manages to get Vivian to snog with him."

Here Vivian interrupted. "Pray don't pick some disgusting lout!"

"It's up to your noble knight here to protect you. That's where you come in, pal. You beat his dirty mind out of his dirty head, understand? And you do the same to his friends."

He nodded, having an extremely bad feeling about this.

But there was nothing he could do about it. So he just offered his arm to Vivian and led her in.

The tavern was a low-down place, even worse than the one Benji had taken him to. Despite the late hour – his watch informed him that it was going on midnight – it was rather crowded, mostly with people he didn't want to get any closer to. They picked an unoccupied table in a corner and sat down, waiting for Knox to enter.

There was a burly fellow sitting at the table next to theirs, behind a vast tankard of beer, distinctly staring over at them. At first he didn't want to answer that unpleasant gaze, then he decided to do otherwise and stared back. To his amazement, the guy turned away hastily.

Encouraged by his success, he tried his trademark glare on some other goons, who wouldn't face him as well. Vivian offered him a warm smile. "That's a nice beginning", she whispered.

He grinned at her, then continued glaring to impress her a bit.

From the corner of his eye he saw Knox come in, but he acted as if he had never seen the man before.

Then he felt a hand on his knee, knowing it was Vivian. He turned his attention to her, wondering if she wanted to tell him something. Yet she didn't; she just patted his knee.

At first he was irritated, yet he couldn't deny that he liked it. Gingerly he let his fingers creep over the table and touch her other hand still resting there. She didn't protest. Nor did she resist in any way. He just felt her fingers crawl up his thigh a little bit in response.

There was some conversation going on at the bar, and Knox was involved. Normally he would be watching nervously what was going to happen, but now he was more interested in Vivian. Her fingers were travelling upwards rapidly, causing him to shudder with badly-suppressed pleasure. He had a pretty good idea where they might be going, and that sounded… ahem… _stimulating_. That Knox guy should just stay where he was; it was _his_ turn to have a go with Vivian now.

Her hand slid up a bit further towards their probable destination, making him clench his teeth. _Don't. Do. That._ But at the same time he desperately wanted her to.

Just then a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him jerk upright. "Listen, lad", a rough voice said, "I'll have you choose. Either you'll let me have your girl, or you get a nice beating."

Curse you! He rose from his seat with such violence that his chair fell over and made the burly fellow behind him step back from him. With all the contempt and disdain he was able to summon, he mustered the guy. Dark-skinned, heavily built, probably not too fast. But there were two other thug-faced men behind him, one light-skinned, but red-faced from too much alcohol, the other black, with a flat nose that looked very much like it had had some few good punches during the last week. He scanned their primitive, brutal features thoroughly, trying to guess their weaknesses. They certainly weren't intelligent. But they were strong. And they were just waiting for a fight.

"Come on", the red-faced drunkard rumbled. "He's merely a little boy on his first date." They all burst out laughing, and he felt the blood shooting into his face.

"Oh dear, sorry, son", the first man jeered. "But you're not old enough for that kind of thing yet."

Rage was building up inside him like the dark clouds of thunderstorm. He wanted to launch himself at those brutes, to hit them until they were bathed in their own blood, to kick their ugly visages in, to crush them to death with his fists. Yet there was something, no idea what he should call it, holding him back, and so he just remained standing opposite the brawlers with clenched fists, glaring at them.

"Kid's got a nasty look 'bout him", the Negro commented. "Might be a big bully."

"Oh, come on!" said the drunkard. "He's way too skinny. Doesn't your Momma feed you, little one?"

He wanted to tell them to shut up about his mother, but no sound escaped his lips except a furious hiss.

"Oh, leave him", sneered the first man. "He's feeling pretty alone without Mommy. Aren't you, sonny?" he added, tousling his hair roughly.

Finally the spell was broken. His fist crashed forcefully into the thug's face, making him topple backwards into his companions. Never dare to mention my mother again!

In one accord the three goons howled with rage. Leaping past their leader, the drunkard lunged at him. But he didn't reckon with the force of his young adversary's wrath. Before he realized what was happening, his ribs cracked dangerously under a blow, while another gave him a blue eye he would keep for the next time.

The trio retreated, just like a serpent recoiling. He hoped they would leave it at that and go, but he was disappointed. Picking up a chair, the first man came at him again, followed by his cronies. "Thinking you're a big man, eh?"

He bit his lip. Knock them out, as fast as possible, so you needn't deal with all of them at once. Yes, but this was easier thought than done.

When the thug leader lunged at him again, he was prepared. He dodged the chair easily and grabbed the man around his throat, then banged him against the wall headfirst, once, twice, three times. Then the drunkard grabbed him. He kicked out at the new adversary, got him in the shin forcefully. Once more the drunkard howled and staggered back, and he had time to try once more to knock the thug leader out by banging him against the wall. Then the Negro had a go. He felt how the brawler's huge hand grabbed his upper arm. Like he had done with the drunkard, he kicked at him, but the black bully wouldn't be scared off that easily. He felt the Negro's knuckles collide with his temple painfully, which made him loosen his grip on the Leader. And this was a big mistake. Immediately the chair crashed down on his head, and hadn't the Negro still held him, he would have certainly lost his balance.

Dazed, he blinked, trying to see through the fog drifting before his eyes. On his tongue was the taste of blood. Then a blow in the stomach caught him off his guard, made him slump against the wall. Weakly he kicked at the men once more and really hit his target, but it wasn't nearly hard enough. "So, darling", the leader crooned in his raspy voice, "say good-bye to your world…"

The memory struck him like a thunderbolt. Many years ago he had heard a similar sentence… _His vision was clouded; his eyes were burning with soot and tears. Flames were_ _dancing before his eyes, and inside his mind as well. With a brutality not yet known to him, a large hand grasped him by the collar, and a rough, cruel voice hissed in his ear… _He hadn't been able to fight back then; he had been but a small child. Now he had grown to manhood. Now he could.

There was only one thought on his mind as he sprang to his feet with new strength, only one purpose: _revenge_. Burning with hatred inwardly, he threw himself at the leader and rammed one elbow into his neck, the other against the side of his jaw. Without waiting if the thug fell or not, he turned to the Negro and, grabbing the chair from the leader, brought it down hard on the side of his face. The chair broke into pieces, showering him with small splinters of wood, leaving one leg in his hand. And this he shoved right into the drunkard's open mouth.

Only then did he stand still and have a look at the situation. The Negro was lying on the floor, obviously out cold. The drunkard was sprawling as well, whimpering while blood was streaming from his mouth. Only the leader was still up more or less, recovering.

And everybody in the tavern was watching him. Knox grinned, leaning against the bar, and gave him a thumbs-up.

He grinned back proudly. That had been pretty fast. His head seemed to be spinning slightly, and he apparently had something close to a headache, but otherwise – he didn't feel too bad.

Like a lethally wounded bull, the leader staggered at him for a last desperate attack. He could read it in his eyes that the man knew he had lost, and this gave him satisfaction. But the thug didn't want to lose his face in front of the spectators.

That fool, he thought, after this successful fight very confident. This will prove to be your undoing…

The man charged, but lacked the power. He tripped him easily, and when the thug lay flat on the floor, he kicked the back of his head before he could stop himself. There was a moan from the audience. Oh no, he had gone too far. But then again, he didn't care. This man had picked the fight. It was not his fault.

Defiantly he gazed around him. There was no reason to blame him for brutality. Those guys had provoked him. They had attacked him. They had beaten him. It had been just his good right to defend himself.

Even Vivian was staring at him. Really, what were they all thinking!

And hadn't she herself wanted him to be brutal?

_Hadn't he just defended her?_

The sound of someone clapping his hands made him turn to look at the bar. It was Knox, still grinning broadly. At first he was the only one, but one after another, others started to applaud too. Soon the whole bar rang with applause and cheers, just like a few hours ago, when he had defeated Master Mad. "About time someone taught that crook a lesson", he could distinctly here a man say, and others heartily agreed.

Knox sauntered over to him and put an arm around his shoulders. "That was quite a tavern brawl, buddy!"


	10. A Strand of Hair

After a sip of lemonade, they returned to the car waiting for them outside. Again he wanted to take the driver's seat, but Knox directed him towards the backseat and climbed in with him. Vivian sat at the front, on the seat next to the driver's, but turned back in it so that she faced the men.

Uneasy, he waited what was to come now.

"I must say, I'm impressed", Knox said. "At first I thought you were going down, but then… an excellent performance. Congratulations."

Accepting this praise with a polite nod, he reached for the notepad lying next to him. There was a question on his mind, a question he wanted to know an answer to. _If I had really gone_ _down,_ he wrote, _would you have helped me? _Then he handed it to Knox. Maybe Knox would take it as an act of provocation. But he just wanted to know.

Knox read the sentence, then looked up at him and smiled, just like a kind elder brother would smiled at a little boy. "You should be informed that it is not my habit to pick fights", he answered smugly.

He nodded silently. Yes, he could have guessed. Good to know.

Even though she hadn't seen the question, Vivian could guess what this was about, for just when he least expected it she ran a hand through his hair comfortingly. "I would have got you out of eventual fixes", she said quietly. "Trust me. I don't take pleasure from watching lads being beaten up."

As if he were a kid! On the one hand, he liked Vivian to take care of him – although he didn't quite believe that she could protect him from drunkards wanting to beat him up. But on the other hand… He really wasn't that small anymore! They shouldn't believe he was weak.

He wanted to tell them so, wanted to let Vivian know that there was absolutely no reason to treat him as a boy… But he didn't want to affront them. So when he took the notepad from Knox again, he wrote: _I don't want you to get hurt because of me._

Vivian read it, then blew him a kiss. "Cutie."

"Flirting, is he?" Knox snatched the notepad and read the sentence. "How cute indeed", he jeered. "How _caring_!"

He bit his lips and didn't say a word.

"Jealous", Vivian noted matter-of-factly.

Knox ignored her. "Why don't you talk?" he asked abruptly. "Here, go on. Write it down. A nice little psychological essay."

Having no alternative, he took up pen and notepad. How, how on earth should he explain? He wasn't even able to offer an acceptable explanation for himself, so how should he point out to Knox that he had a reason to remain silent.

I don't even have a reason, he thought bitterly. There's absolutely no reason. It's just… Well, I don't. I simply don't. Because… I can't.

Well, not quite. Technically, I can. But when it comes to it…

"Go on", said Knox. "I'm waiting."

Some quick thinking was needed, and fast. Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, he slowly started scribbling. _I fear I cannot really explain_, he began. _I was very small when_ _something happened that I don't like to remember._

Actually this was none of Knox's business.

But whatever that job was about, he had the feeling that he definitely wanted it.

_On this day I barely escaped with my life, yet orphaned and with nowhere to go. Some time I spent on my own, lurking at the edge of villages as well as out in the wilderness, until I was picked up by the police._

Right. Now the hard part came. _Never during that time had I spoken a word, and now, as_ _they found me, it seemed that…_

Here he stopped. It seemed that – what? That I couldn't do it anymore? That I was unable to? That I didn't dare to?

None of Knox's business, indeed! What did he have to ask him for?

It seemed that… Well, it seemed that he was stuck here.

Bloody hell.

Anyway, even if he managed to bring down onto this piece of paper what he felt, they would find it strange and unlikely. They wouldn't understand.

So he would just write… anything. Anything that came to his mind. Never bother about the truth. Your feelings are private, future employer or not.

… _I somehow had forgotten how to speak_, he continued. _It was all there; I could write things_ _down (having learned how to read and write from my parents), but I couldn't utter a word. Maybe it was just because I was scared (I was fairly small then), or because I was too shy, or because I feared that my English wasn't good enough. _Rubbish, he thought, pausing and giving his own handwriting a critical scan. That had never been his concern. He had known perfectly well that there was nothing wrong with his English. And the other things also weren't quite true. Yes, he had been a bit shy then, but that wouldn't have prevented him from speaking.

_They didn't press me_, he wrote on, hoping that Knox would take the hint. _So it just became a_ _habit of mine. I have been silent ever after._

Well, that wasn't nearly as good as any of his essays. But writing about himself, about his feelings, was giving himself away. That explanation was good enough for Knox. His lips pressed together defiantly, he passed the notepad over.

Knox read it in silence, his expression hard to interpret. Finally he handed it to Vivian and regarded him pensively. "Freak", he murmured.

Normally such remarks hurt him. But not this time. For when Knox said it, he sensed a certain undertone that almost made him smile. Was it really – a little bit of admiration of some sort?

"Sounds like something psychical to me", Vivian remarked. "Ever seen a doctor about it?"

He shook his head violently. What did she think he was, a psychopath? She could call him whatever she wanted, but he was _not_ mentally ill!

"That – event you mention here", Vivian continued. "You haven't yet been quite able to get over it?"

No.

Yes.

He didn't know.

Memories were creeping up on him, catching him off his guard. An image came back to him, long banished to the deepest recesses of his mind, of smoke and flames, wild greedy flames. Screams. Pain. Fear. Despair. He felt his shoulders hunch and couldn't do anything against it. Voices, voices crying out in agony, crying his name. Mother! Father! He was unable to help them. He shivered, hacked his teeth into his lower lip to fight back that howl of misery inside him. Never, never again! He just wanted to forget, never see those pictures anymore, never hear those terrible voices.

There was blood on his tongue. His lip was bleeding.

"Obviously he hasn't", Knox stated matter-of-factly.

Like under a whip he flinched under this remark, clenching his teeth. The taste of blood was getting stronger.

And then a hand gently touched his cheek. "Come with me for a moment", Vivian said softly.

Knox didn't protest as he climbed out after her, glad to feel the cool night wind on his face. What had come over him?

One day he would have to learn to live with his memories. One day he would have to cope with it all.

But he was not ready yet. Not yet.

Vivian led him a few steps into the patch of green beside the parking lot. They were not far away from the car, but shielded by a large bush. For the first time he wondered what Vivian was up to, why she was taking him here. Because she felt sorry for him? Because she knew that Knox was hurting him? Probably she didn't care.

Facing him, Vivian offered him a smile that made the his palms go wet. "Eric just hit a weak spot, didn't he?" she asked.

There was no denying it, so he nodded miserably. He had wanted to be strong and dauntless, and what Knox had found about him with a single personal question was weakness.

"Don't hang your head", Vivian said soothingly. "Everybody has his weak spot. So have I."

He tried a smile, but didn't wholly succeed.

"You know what it is?"

Shaking his head, he watched her coming towards him, irritated by the sensation that his guts had gone all wiggly at once.

"Well-built young men." She was very close now, her breath warming the side of his neck. "There's always that irresistible lure to touch them." While she spoke, her fingers were tracing the lines of his chest, wandering down towards his stomach… Automatically he flexed his muscles, at once flooded with pleasant sensations. Normally he didn't like it when people touched him unnecessarily, but he suffered Vivian to do so. This feeling was new to him, new and exciting. There were things on his mind, thoughts and desires the nuns at the orphanage would consider as extremely sinful. Soiling his stainless young soul, that was what he was doing.

It was high time he did. He yearned to do it.

Vivian's hand had now reached his belt buckle, but – to his disappointment – didn't go any further, but was withdrawn. He gazed at her, urging her with his eyes to go on…

Now wait a minute. He wasn't her plaything!

But as she reached up towards his cheek to pat it, he didn't retreat.

Her fingers touched his lips, tenderly wiped off a drop of blood. "Only a little bit of training", she whispered, "and you'll be magnificent. Mind that. Never let yourself be pushed off course because of your past. I think you might just be the right man. With those aquiline features of yours, and with those marvellous eyes… Listen, would you kill Eric if I told you to?"

Her scent was dazzling. What was that she had just said? Aquiline features, marvellous eyes… Kill Eric Knox?

Before the message had truly reached his consciousness, words had formed in his mind, travelled to his vocal cords… _Whatever you command me to do, I will._ He opened his mouth, formed the words… but no sound escaped his lips. He tried again, and this time he emitted a soft, low growl – before he returned to his usual habit of nodding.

Yet he managed to nod firmly enough to get the message across.

"Almost", Vivian remarked. "You were quite close to it, weren't you? But never worry about it, your eyes speak clearly enough to me." Again she patted his cheek. "Though I wonder what your answer would have sounded like. _I live to serve_, maybe?"

He tried to repeat what had been on his mind, but the words were choked in his throat.

There was definitely a wicked look about Vivian now. A _femme fatale_ look. A tiny bit scary, and at the same time more than a tiny bit stimulating. A lot more. "You know what?" she breathed seductively. "I drink your blood, and you will be… mine."

Inhaling deeply, he let the cool night air calm him down, fight the heat building up in him, the heat and the dizziness. Vivian was closer than ever before, their faces only inches apart…

When she kissed him, he still was taken by surprise. The heat was killing him. His first reaction would have been to run for it because he did not know how to react, if not for an instinct awaking, telling him exactly what he had to do. In respond he put his arms around her, pulled her close. One hand wandered up her back, dived into her hair and played in it… Heavens, this was joy, true, pure joy of a kind he had never felt before. He suffered her to suck the blood from his lips, sucking her lips in return, lost in her fragrance, his fingers becoming entangled in her hair, wrapped in soft strands…

A memory returned to him once more, one so bitter and yet so sweet he had never yet found anything alike to. Taking a thin strand of her hair between his fingers, he gave it a yank, felt it come free.

With a tiny shriek, Vivian stepped back from him. He didn't really notice, becoming lost in an emotion so strong it clouded his eyes with tears. Slowly he brought the strand up to his face, sniffed it, analysed its fragrance and compared it to the one he remembered…

"You devil."

He looked up at her, embarrassed, and quickly looked away again, automatically stuffing the hair into his pocket.

"Some sort of fetish, is it?" Again she came very close to him, but not as close as the last time.

Fetish? Did she refer to something sexual? He shook his head. If she knew… When he closed his eyes, he could still see it, the smoke clouding the sight of the distant hills. And he could still smell the fragrance dimly, mingled with the scent of burning wood, and another one, strangely sweet… Was this what burning flesh smelled like?

If she knew…

"So even a kiss cannot loosen your tongue", Vivian stated. "Tougher than I thought."

Oh no, his inner voice answered. There's nothing that can. Nothing in the world. Not even my own will.

Freak, he told himself. Bloody crazy freak.

Vivian seemed to have come to a decision. "Well, there's nothing I can do about it. So we'll just go to the next trial. See how…" Here she paused and smirked before she continued: "… _scrupulous_ you are."

There was no alternative to nodding.


	11. Remembering Romania

A few minutes later, they were on the road again. His head still ached, but altogether he felt better – at least physically. Mentally, he was in a state of doubt and disappointment at himself. Hadn't Benji told him to act like a tough guy? And what had he done? He had just shown them weakness. He had made a complete fool of himself.

Damn you, you foolish lout, you madman, you freak.

At least that bar fight wasn't that bad, he tried to comfort himself. I took those three big bullies on single-handedly, and I won.

And what does that prove? Nothing.

He could have cried with frustration.

Knox directed him along a road with almost no traffic, urging him to go ever faster. There was a salty smell on the wind, informing him that they must be quite close to the coast by now. If the road made a sudden turn now over a sheer cliff – he imagined the car falling down into a dark abyss, greedily swallowed by the ocean's cold waves. Knox would have time enough to regret that crazy speed while they fell. And maybe he'd kill that maniac before they hit the water. Just for one time in his life unleash his hatred of the world. And then die, perish as if he had never existed. Nobody would miss him.

Once more he called himself a freak. First, how on earth should he manage to kill Knox in a matter of seconds and of what use would it be? Second, he felt yet too young to die.

What would dying feel like, he wondered. Would it hurt? And what came after it?

What had it been like when his parents had died? And all the others he had known and loved? He hoped it had been at least painless, fast and painless.

And then he heard the screams again…

Why? he thought bitterly. They had managed to flee from Ceausescu and his Communist regime only to die where they thought they were safe. They had left their home in vain after all. And maybe Ceausescu's henchmen would have found them a more humane way to die.

He remembered the dictator well, although he had been fairly small when he had seen him. Ceausescu had stood on the balcony of his palace and waved genuinely down at the crowd. Not much older than three, he had not quite been able to believe that this was a bad man, as his parents used to tell him. He only knew bad men from his grandparents' stories, and those bad men were much different.

His grandparents… He remembered the open fire and the smell of toffee apples on cold winter days, the smoke of grandfather's pipe curling up towards the rafters of the living room, the rows and rows of books up to the ceiling… _He was helping his grandmother with hanging up the washing, listening to stories full of dark riders in the night and undeads rising from the grave, longing for the warm blood of the living… A storm was shaking the trees of the forests of Transylvania, he could see it before his inner eye, large black bats with glowing red eyes riding on the wind. A shudder crept over his back, at the same time full of pleasure and excitement. Somewhere there was a castle on a rock, and it this castle lived Dracula, king of vampires. And there was the princess he held captive, and the noble knight…_

His grandfather's stories were a lot different. When he sat on the old man's knees, the gaze of his grandfather's bright blue eyes would wander off far away, and he would tell his godson of the days of his youth and of the great war. As he had looked up years later when already at the orphanage, Romania had entered the treaty against the Soviets between Germany, Italy and Japan in 1940, and in 1941 they had been on Germany's side when the war against Russia began. Tall, fair-haired and with his bright blue eyes, his grandfather had been accepted into the SS straight away and even made it to lieutenant – Untersturmführer, he recalled. It had been his grandfather who had taught him German, and he had used to speak it quite fluently, even better than his parents. "I want you to be a warrior someday", his grandfather had often said. "A real warrior." And every time he had answered: "Yes, granddad. Someday I will be one."

He remembered the late evenings at his grandparents' home, when he would be already more or less asleep before the fire. Then sometimes the adults would start talking with hushed voices; he did not know why. He merely knew it was about Ceausescu, the man who lived in a castle and was bad, just like Dracula, the man who had people locked up and tortured and killed and whatever else you might think of, all in the name of the international community of workers and the fight against capitalism, whatever that might be. The little boy lying on the rug in front of the fire did not truly understand.

Later on, he had. When an older boy at the orphanage had proclaimed to be a communist, he had beaten him almost to death.

He wondered what had become of his grandparents. Were they still alive? Had they survived Ceausescu's reign of terror?

One day he would go back home and look for them. One day he would.

But not yet. He was not ready yet.

And maybe he would go looking for the man who had beaten his mother and make him regret it for the rest of his miserable life.

It had been late at night, and he had woken from the sound of agitated voices. There had been light outside his room. And there had been strange men in uniforms, searching the house, every corner of it, leaving a terrible mess behind. One had dragged him out of bed and brought him to the living room, placing him in the custody of a tall, dark-clad officer who was shamelessly smoking, tipping the ashes onto the carpet.

_"Where are my parents?" the small boy asked. "Haven't they told you that you're not allowed to smoke in the house?"_

_The officer regarded him with a lazy sneer and flicked some ashes at him, so that he took a step back. "Listen, you little brat", he growled. "Your parents might be gone for some time. You stay here and behave yourself, or else… you might not like the consequences."_

_Though irritated and scared, he could not stop himself asking: "What exactly do you mean by consequences?"_

_Obviously with strained patience, the officer knelt down before him, clouding his sight by a thick fog of smoke. Without taking the cigarette from his mouth, he grabbed the child by both shoulders and looked him in the face. "Being cheeky, are we?"_

_He did not quite know how to react. He was afraid of the man, and the cigarette smoke was making him sick. So he just bit his tongue and looked at the stranger. Was this a mighty man? A bad and mighty man? Somehow he wished to be in the officer's position, not in his own._

_"Here, son of a traitor, where did you get those bright eyes?"_

_What had he just called him? Son of a traitor? A traitor, that was something bad. Something very bad. Hot rage boiled up in him, and he answered the man's stare hard. "I'm not a traitor's son", he said, with a deadly calm he had not yet heard in his own voice. "And I have blue eyes because I'm of the noble blood of the West, and because my ancestors are descended from the Romans, who were here before all the barbarians from the East came."_

_And then he understood what it meant when one's gaze bored into the other's. He felt his lips go dry. How would the man react?_

_He shouldn't have said that._

_Keep the eye contact, just keep it…_

_When the officer spoke again, his voice sounded strangely raspy. "Who told you that?"_

_"My father."_

_"Your father." Slowly the officer rose to his feet. "So we've got the right man after all, eh?" With this he turned on his heels and left the room._

"See the castle over there, Anthony?"

_He ran after the man, out into the hall, from where he could hear his mother's voice. They've got the right man… They've got him… "Turn him loose!" his mother cried. "Let him go!"_

_He threw himself at one of the soldier's legs, but the next moment he felt a terrible pain in his head and landed on the floor hard, and a boot dug into his ribs…_

_His vision was dancing in and out of focus…_

"Anthony?"

_And then someone was thrown down beside him, the officer towering over both of them…_

_"My boy", his mother's voice whispered into his ear. "Calm down. Don't cry. It's all over now."_

_He blinked at her dizzily, saw the bruises on her cheek and did not understand. "Where's Dad?" he murmured._

_"They took him with them. But he'll be back. Don't cry. He'll be back."_

_For the very first time in his young life, he doubted that his mother really believed what she was saying._

_Was he only imagining things, or was there a drop of moisture running down her face, over the bruises?_

"Anthony, I'm talking to you!" Knox bellowed.

He flinched and sat up straight in his seat, banishing the officer's leering visage back to the dark place where all his unpleasant memories lingered.

"Paying attention finally? Good. You stop at the nice little castle over there."

He nodded, embarrassment flooding his mind.


	12. The Truth

There were a lot of places he would prefer to this. Not that the little castle on the cliff didn't suit him; in any other situation he would be very delighted indeed about it. It was just his current state of mind. The shame. The anger. The despair.

When he had turned out to be a complete failure, why were they still taking him to a place like this?

Probably because Benji was expecting to pick him up not this night, but the next. Yes, this would be the reason.

He followed Knox and Vivian in through the entrance, wishing to be back at the orphanage, finding some comfort in a book. At the moment the second part of _The Lord of the Rings_ was awaiting him on his tiny bedside table – like so often. He did not call many possessions his own, and J.R.R. Tolkien's fantasy saga was among the most treasured ones.

He would also prefer to help out in the kitchens or the gardens, as every orphanage child had to do from time to time. Just like the others, he didn't appreciate such duties at all. However, there wasn't much he could do wrong there.

He wouldn't even mind to be in church right now. Better bored and sitting on a hard seat than going through several stages of embarrassment and still having a lot of time for that ahead.

The old classroom would be alright, too. Any lesson.

Or the bathroom. He had to go there badly.

"Come on", Knox commanded impatiently as they were climbing up a winding staircase. Well, he _was_ coming, wasn't he? So what was wrong with it?

Knox answered the unspoken question by grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him to his side. "Here you go, laddie."

He did not protest in any way, he just pulled the open shirt back over his shoulder. Knox was just the right one to call him "laddie"!

"Feeling sick, are you?" Knox spoke in an easy tone that indicated very much that he didn't care.

Well, not exactly sick… He chose to shrug in response.

And then Knox did something rather unexpected: he put an arm around his shoulders. "Listen, buddy", he continued in the same tone, "only because there's some weirdness about you I'm not giving up on you. Understand? So cheer up, kid. And look forward to what's ahead."

Vivian's laughter at that remark made him do just the opposite.

"Are you tired yet?"

He shook his head. No, he was alright. He didn't need much sleep.

"Good. You know", Knox continued, "I might just need you to be awake." Again Vivian laughed. "Still some time to go. Then you can get some sleep if you like."

Again nodding, he wished Knox would release him. Being so close to the man was not a comfortable feeling.

"Well, _I_ would certainly like to", Vivian put in.

"What?" asked Knox, suspicions arising. "Are you implying you'd like to take him to bed?"

He concentrated on the steps he was taking, how he was continually climbing the stairs.

"No. Don't be silly." Somehow this answer was a disappointment to him.

"There was something between you and Morgan…"

"But not on the first night we met", Vivian reminded Knox, leaving him hopeful.

"See, buddy? You might even be rewarded when you've shown what you're worth." Like an afterthought, Knox added: "Although I don't like it."

He dared a grin at that.

"Go and check if old Springfield's in", Knox instructed. It took a moment for him to realize that this was directed not at himself, but at Vivian, because of the harsh tone Knox spoke it. Clearly anger at having a rival – even though he certainly didn't feel like one. However, Knox considering him as a rival could finally give him some satisfaction. "You, kid, are coming with me."

"Right." Vivian disappeared through a door.

Still with an arm around his shoulders, Knox led him further up the stairs. "You know", he said conspiratorially, "that's the way it is with women. They're practically interested in the same thing as we are, but when it comes to it, they make it complicated. First they shoot risqué remarks at you, then they behave as if they were an allegory of decency. But inside every woman is a great big bitch, boy, mind that."

He answered with a simple nod. Women were not his field of profession. However, he strongly doubted that Knox knew much about women in general.

"Ever had a girl?" Knox continued.

Not in mood to appear ignorant in any way, he confirmed that. He had had a girlfriend at kindergarten, back in Bucharest. That should be good enough for Knox.

"So you'll know what I mean, eh?"

To this he just shrugged. There hadn't be much of a chance to find out about any such things, both of them being five years of age then. Most of their activities together had mainly consisted of playing with bricks and dolls and teddy bears or sitting around giggling. From time to time they had held hands, and once Juliana had even kissed him (which had been rather embarrassing, as everybody had been watching), but that was all concerning his experiences with a girlfriend.

"There's just one thing I'd like you to keep in mind." Knox's voice had lost its conspiratorial tone and acquired a sharp edge instead. "I find you in bed with Vivian, you're a dead man. Got that?"

Trying to appear as unmoved as possible, he nodded. Man, that had actually been a threat. Not the first one he heard, of course, but certainly the most serious one.

If this really were a proper job he was applying for, he thought, it wouldn't work like that. Knox would keep their relationship strictly professional.

And there wouldn't be such strange… trials.

What were Knox and Vivian up to? If not for Benji, he would tend to believe that they were merely taunting him.

Making a decision, he reached for the notepad he had pocketed – which was feeling a bit uncomfortable, because it was way too big to be stuffed into the chest pocket properly – and fumbled his trouser pocket for the pen. Realizing that, Knox stopped, turned him loose and looked at him expectantly. "You have permission to speak", he remarked with a lopsided grin.

Ha ha ha. Very funny.

Trying to hold the pad as steady as possible, he scribbled: _Why do I have to go through all this?_

Knox read it, raised his eyebrows at him, and finally answered: "We need to know if you're qualified, kid." With this, he was about to go.

Taking the notepad up again, he tried another question: _Qualified for what?_

Their eyes met. For a moment Knox seemed to wonder if he should outstare him, but he held his gaze, tried to force all the cold and malice he could muster into his eyes. Soon Knox lowered his head, reluctantly admitting defeat. "Don't you know that by now?" he attempted to escape the question.

But Knox had no chance. Now he had beaten him once, and he would beat him a second and third time if need be. _It's not a proper job, isn't it? Something you definitely wouldn't try filling in over the newspaper?_

"It _is_ a proper job, alright."

_I think you know what I mean._

"Yes, I do."

So why didn't he tell them? _I'd like to know what kind of job I'm applying for._

"Didn't Morgan tell you anything?"

_Nothing. Which is strange. I assume you had him keep it secret._

Knox clicked his tongue. "You're cleverer than I thought."

Fine. He seemed to start feeling uncomfortable. _Are you going to tell me?_

Again their gazes met, but this time Knox didn't even try to win that way. "Right. I can't keep it from you forever. Come on, and I'll tell you."

Somehow he managed not to grin.

Knox led him up to the top of the staircase, where a bell hang in the tower, and out onto a wide terrace, into the night. For a moment there was silence between the two of them. Then Knox began softly: "Are you a moviegoer? I am. And there's a certain type that has always impressed me. The dark man. The mystery man. Nobody knows who he really is – until it is too late. The dark avenger in the night."

He nodded to that, but Knox didn't heed him. "The man they all fear. Protector to one, nemesis to the rest of them." It seemed as if he were speaking to himself, forming his dark fancies and fantasies into words. "The man in black. The dark angel. The angel of death."

In the silence that followed, the beating of the waves on the shore below was unnaturally loud. And so was his heartbeat. He could hear it hammer in his ears. At once his hands had gone all clammy. So it was true after all, the thing that had occurred to him back at Knox's apartment. So he had guessed right. Licking his dry lips, he looked at Knox, waiting for him to continue, to tell him he was joking or whatever. But Knox didn't speak anymore.

With trembling fingers he took out notepad and pen again. The moon gave light enough to write. _The assassin_, he wrote. It was not a question, it was a statement.

Knox looked him up and down, as if recovering from a dream. "Yes, boy. The assassin."

And then he believed that his heart missed a beat.

Far away in the sky, a tiny star blinked at him, and its light was cold.


	13. A Decision in the Moonlight

He was still standing on the terrace in the darkness, and the moon was still shining on him.

And Knox was watching him, smiling. "You didn't expect that, did you?"

He drew a deep breath. Time was running again now. _I did._

"Oh, really." But Knox didn't sound convinced. "You'd make a fine one, if you ask me. You've got that certain something."

He'd make a fine assassin.

What was it he had? What did Knox mean?

He'd make a fine assassin. What a thing to say. Would he really? He wondered. Could he kill?

It's not hard, he told himself. After all, a human is only too vulnerable.

And you've always wanted to, haven't you? Ever since that day you hate to remember. You've secretly desired to kill, to rip, to cut, to tear, to spill blood different from your own. There were those nights when you couldn't sleep, and you would get out of bed and gaze out into the night, and you would long for murder, thirst for blood…

It's all that hatred inside me. I'll have to let it out or it may well kill me.

Someone, whoever, has to be killed.

Anyone.

You will finally see blood…

Man, he scolded himself, come to your senses! Some weird fellow offers you the job of an assassin and there you go, fantasising about bloodshed like Count Dracula!

For a brief moment he smiled inwardly, wondering if that had anything to do with his Romanian heritage. But then he realized that Knox was still looking at him, watching him. He was waiting for an answer.

This situation is crazy. You're dreaming, boy. Wake up.

Well, if he was dreaming, he might as well…

_What would you need an assassin for?_ he scribbled and passed the note on to Knox.

The man smirked at him in response. "You never know, kid. You never know."

_Why do you ask me?_ Any moment now Knox would laugh at him and drop the matter and instead tell him that he needed just a lad for odd jobs or something like that. Any moment. Go on, just do it. Your little joke is not funny anymore.

But did he really want it to be a joke?

"We-ell, I asked your friend Morgan. He wanted to quit because someone else had made him a bigger offer. I said I was ready to accept his resignation, but he'd have to find me another one. A nice fresh kid, for preference. Someone whose wages wouldn't be over the top. Someone we could have trained as I wanted him. He grinned at that and said he knew just the kid." Knox was behaving as if giving an account of a football match he had participated in, with a lazy air but not without pride. "I wanted to take care of that selection myself, but Vivian took matters into her own hand. She arranged for you and Morgan to come to that bar and do a bit of fencing. When she found you worthy, she took you along. And here you are. Our hopeful new candidate."

He felt a surge of anger at Benji for not telling him, and at Knox for playing with him like that. Yes, he tended to believe him. But couldn't they have used another method of informing him?

Knox was probably waiting for a reaction of any kind, an answer. But he didn't know what to tell him. Should he accept? Was it wise to accept? Maybe he would find himself entangled in some criminal organisation soon, with no way out.

Yes, but Benji had been allowed to leave.

There was one more question on his mind. _Has Benji ever killed for you?_

"Only once, and not really for me."

Oh man. And Benji had never told him.

Should he follow that path? Somehow, it was mightily alluring. An unexpected opportunity, a life full of risk and danger, a life filled with adventure, a life he might well enjoy.

And if they caught him, he might well be executed.

"Still considering it, buddy? Come on, it's just the right thing for you. Maybe no steady income and no mortgage, but you can make big money there. Believe me. And I'll have an eye on you. I'll make sure you do it right."

A sudden idea struck him: Acting the tough businessman, he wrote: _How much?_

Reading this, Knox chuckled to himself. "That's a language you understand, eh? Let's say five hundred mice for tonight because you're still learning. For every hour of bodyguard duty you may well double that. There'll be various little jobs for you, which will also earn you something, of course. And for a proper kill… there'll be a lot more."

What? Did Knox really mean to give him five hundred dollars this evening? He'd never had that much! He'd never even seen that much! Well, to others that might not be a lot of money, but to him it certainly was. And those other offers…

"Can you agree with those terms? Or do you want more? I'm always open for negotiations."

For a moment he hesitated. Should he ask for more? After all, for a dangerous job like that… But no, he didn't want to appear greedy. _500 $ is fine. Am I going to kill anybody tonight?_

Knox nodded in satisfaction. "That's another test you've passed. I don't like my men to be avaricious. Yes, kid, you're going to kill tonight. That is, if you accept. Take your time to consider it."

_Is this another test?_

Knox smiled. "No, boy. Just take your time."

Thrusting his hand into his pockets, he looked up at the full moon. A wild wolf of the woods would howl now, sing a sad, lonely song, not caring if there were any listeners or not. Somehow he felt very much like a wolf on its own.

There was something in his pocket. A strand of hair. Vivian's hair. He had ripped it out.

What was it Vivian had asked him shortly before he had done so? If he would kill Knox?

Would Knox want him to kill Vivian tonight?

No, certainly not. Vivian seemed to be his partner in whatever it was he was really doing, and moreover she seemed to be his lover. Knox wouldn't want him to kill Vivian.

If he killed somebody tonight, and the police found out… Again the prospect of execution appeared before his inner eye.

He shrugged it away. You don't have a life anyway. There's nothing before you. You might as well start off as a killer. There's nothing else for you.

Taking up notepad and pen again, he prepared to write an answer.

Knox was walking up and down nearby, not heeding him. Indeed, he was giving him time.

There was the slapping of the waves against the rocks again, constant like the heartbeat of the universe. And moon and stars shining upon it all… What a rare beauty lay in this scene! And what a contrast had their matter of discussion been.

The stars were still shining on him as they had done before. But something had changed. _He_ had changed. He had made a decision that altered everything. To him, it felt as if he was re-arranging the stars.

Yes, he was currently re-arranging his own stars. His personal stars of fate.

But beside all that, he was still the teenager he had used to be, silent and a loner, not even twenty yet, almost half a child. The long evening began to wear down on him, weariness was creeping into his limbs. He felt awkward so on his own, somehow lost. And he still had to go to the bathroom.

Not the great warrior his grandfather had wanted him to be.

But from now on, he might have the chance to fulfil that wish.

As he finally wrote his answer, he smiled faintly. At first he had wanted it to be a little bit dramatic, like in a fantasy novel. But then, it turned out quite simple: _I accept._


	14. Killing Time

"I assume you haven't killed anyone yet."

He nodded, sitting down on the wall at the edge of the terrace beside Knox and wondering how far he would fall if he leaned back too wide.

"Ever killed an animal?"

_Insects and sometimes snails_, he wrote, right under his answer to Knox's offer. Looking at it once again still sent a slight tremor through him.

Knox gave a derisive snort. "What a champion. High time we change that score."

He felt how his forehead knit into a frown all by itself. Had Knox ever killed anyone? Somehow, that bastard didn't look like it. He might be wrong, but Knox wasn't a killing type. Knox was one who let others do the dirty work.

What a crazy thing, accepting that offer. What madness. This was not a good idea, definitely not. Those adventures he was looking for wouldn't be of the pleasant sort.

What a crazy thing, having come here in the first place.

Suddenly and unnaturally loud in the quietude of the night, Knox's cell phone rang. Knox answered it after glancing at the display: "Vivian? Yeah, I'm on the terrace with the boy." There was a pause. "Right, we're coming." Pocketing it again, Knox nodded it him. "Come on. He's there. Your victim."

Reluctant to leave the nightly scene, he descended after Knox into the light, blinking because his eyes were used to the darkness now.

My victim.

So his time had come.

But what if he couldn't do it? What if he stood in front of that man and simply couldn't?

No. He could do it. He knew he could. He would show that arrogant bastard Knox, that show-off who kept calling him a boy, how much anger, how much rage, how much hatred he harboured inside.

He remembered how often he had wished to kill someone. Now when he seemed to get the chance, he wasn't that sure about it anymore.

Knox led him back the way they had come, but shortly before the entrance waved him into a dimly lit room off to the side. When he entered it, he realized that it actually was larger than he had expected, and there were monitors on the far wall, though currently turned off. And right opposite him stood the ugliest fellow he had ever seen in his life. As the stranger was porky and had small, pig-like eyes, he wouldn't have been surprised if the guy had grunted at him. Besides, that man had obviously never heard of shaving, and there were at least three warts nicely arranged in his face. The intelligence written on his brow equalled about that of a mountain troll.

"He always makes me sick", Knox whispered behind him. "That's why I picked him to get killed. Good riddance, don't you think?"

He nodded. To that he could certainly agree. However, how should he exactly kill the man? Walk up to him and thrust a knife through his chest? He didn't even have a knife!

"Springfield", said Vivian, sitting off to the side in the shadows so he hadn't noticed her yet, "this is the boy. Want some information on him?"

As the fellow addressed as Springfield grunted in response, he had a hard time not to grin. Swine, he thought. Big, fat swine. You don't deserve to live.

But that it was just him who had to put out the miserable little flame of life inside that bloke… It wasn't a comfortable feeling. If Knox handed him a gun now, it would be easy. He would just pull the trigger. That couldn't be difficult, just moving your finger a tiny bit.

"He's an orphan", Vivian informed Springfield, "obviously of Romanian origin. That's over in Europe, just for your information. Where Count Dracula comes from. Lost his parents under mysterious circumstances, seemingly in a fire. Hasn't spoken a single word since, as I've heard. You shouldn't underestimate him, he's quicker and stronger than he looks. Are you accepting the challenge?"

Another grunt was the answer, sounding like "yeah".

"Anthony, do you accept?"

"He does", Knox answered for him.

Watching Springfield advance on him, he let the black shirt glide from his shoulders and threw it over a chair nearby. It would only be in the way.

"Skinny bit of a fella", growled Springfield, beginning to circle him. "And pale. You sure he's not a vampire himself, boss?" Laughing at his own joke, he prodded him in the chest. "You sure you wanna do that?"

He drew a deep breath and then looked the man straight in the eyes, forcing all his contempt and hatred into his gaze. In the meantime, he was thinking hard. Springfield was shorter than him, but a lot heavier. Without a weapon, how should he deal with him? How should he even kill him? Back at the tavern, he had had chairs at hand, and he hadn't planned on killing anyone, just stopping them attacking him. Now, when Knox wanted him to kill, there was nothing at hand.

"I guess he's disturbed", Springfield sneered. "Just look at that face of his. And not speaking anymore since your parents' death? How much did your precious mommy mean to you, baby? Or was it you who set fire to them, eh?"

It happened all by itself. His fist hit Springfield right on the already flat nose, making him tumble backwards. Before the man had caught himself again, he had already kicked him in the stomach, which sent Springfield crashing into the wall and then fold up like a thrown-away doll. Teeth bared, he glared down at him, his chest heaving heavily, trying to get a grip on himself.

Scored a point. Definitely.

"Man…" Springfield was getting up again, clutching his stomach with one hand, rubbing his face with the other. "Hasn't anyone bothered to teach you manners yet?"

Don't let that swine get an advantage! He kicked again, aiming for Springfield's face but hitting his forehead instead. The effect was the same, however: With a groan, the man fell over once more. What a pity he wasn't wearing his boots! That might have hurt even more. But he compensated it by letting a kick into the lying man's side follow.

How did you kill a man without weapons? Strangle him? Probably quite difficult when the victim was still fighting back. Kick the bones of his nose into his brain? That certainly required some skill. Step on his neck and crush his windpipe? Good idea!

He launched himself at the still sprawling man once more, ready to ram his heel into Springfield's throat – just get it done, get the whole damn business done! – and kicked into thin air as Springfield rolled over, then lost his balance and fell as Springfield tripped him. He hadn't expected the ground to be that hard; the air was knocked out of his lungs, tiny bright dots swirled before his eyes.

Seeing the stars, am I?

Get up, man, get up, God damn it!

And then the dots won some intensity as a boot crashed into his ribs. "Take this, you son of a bitch!" roared Springfield. "And this! And this!" The pain rushed through him in waves, made him curl up and try to roll away, twitch his legs weakly in defence-

"Ow!" Springfield howled, backing away rubbing his kneecap, and he realized that he must have hit him by mere accident, which helped a lot easing the pain.

This is your chance! Get up!

Groaning, he raised himself to his hands and knees, overcome by drowsiness. Two fights in such a short time obviously were too much. He forced his aching muscles to move, but already Springfield was coming at him again, he would never be able to dodge…

"Stop right here!" It was Vivian. "Over here, Springfield. Anthony, get up and join Eric."

Surprised and equally relieved to have at least a little bit of time to catch his breath again, he trotted over to Knox as Vivian had told him. With some disappointment written on his beastly visage, Springfield came to Vivian's side.

"That's my boy", said Knox brightly. "Getting the idea of how the brute fights?"

He nodded. The next time, he would watch out for dirty tricks.

"Feeling okay?"

He massaged his side, imagining the bruises building up, and shrugged. After all, it could have been worse, he thought. The shiny dots had gone, and he was steady on his feet again.

If only they'd let him go to the bathroom now! That would improve his situation a lot.

"You managed to give him a nosebleed, did you notice?"

Surprised at himself, he shook his head. No, actually he hadn't.

"Well, you weren't bad, really", Knox stated. "Only that you went down for that stupid trick of his… Pity. But now you're warned, aren't you?"

He nodded with determination. Indeed.

"So… It's time to enter a more interesting stage of combat now." Grinning like one of those devils from medieval paintings of hell, Knox produced a knife with a black handle and a thin, curved blade. "I'll let you use mine. Lucky weapon. I like to carry it around with me. It has never yet tasted blood, though."

He accepted the knife from Knox, nodding his thanks, and ran his thumb along the blade. It was sharper than he would have guessed. Unusual for such a small thing, he thought. That one was made for decoration, not for combat. The blade is only about as long as my forefinger. Why does Knox keep it that sharp? Probably he gets his kicks from such things.

And I'm going to kill with his precious toy…

There was an uneasy feeling down in his stomach, apart from the pressure in his bladder, but he tried to ignore it. He would not think now. He would just act. He would just stab that ugly swine as quickly as possible.

Yes, but where? Through the chest? Was the blade long enough to pierce his heart? He assumed so. But was there any better way? Slit the stomach? No, way too messy.

"Listen", Knox spoke again, this time in nothing but a rough whisper. "You just go and do him, right? As quickly and efficiently as possible. And be careful not to lose the knife! I'll have to stop Springfield before he does something to you – but only because Morgan made me promise, mind you! – yet I will take my time if you are stupid enough to let him get his dirty paws on my favourite knife. Understand?"

He nodded, mentally thanking Benji for taking care of him.

"Let's get started, then."

Springfield was already expecting him, and below his nose his face was really smeared with red. "You dare, little Mr Dracula- Hey, wait! He's got a knife!"

"Yeah, and this knife is mine and I gave it to him", he heard Knox answer from behind him, and there was a nasty, but fascinating tone of evil anticipation in his voice. "He is meant to have one."

Turning to Vivian, Springfield protested: "You didn't mention that! You merely said-"

"That you were to fight a lad", Knox cut in. "For my entertainment and to teach said lad a lesson. A special honour reserved for you. That was all. Sure, there was no mentioning of weapons in what my partner told you. But there was no mentioning of none, either."

Springfield's forehead crumpled up in the effort to understand this. "I'll call the police", he finally came up with.

"No good idea. Definitely. Remember poor old Clarke? It was you who slew him, wasn't it?"

Again Springfield grunted, having nothing else to say.

"Moreover", Vivian added, "you're believed to be on the dole. Nobody knows you work for Eric. That will be several years' taxes, no matter if they can prove you killed Clarke or not That trouble you find yourself in might not be as big as Eric says, but big enough, don't you think?"

There was another grunt.

"Do you agree, then?" Knox asked sharply.

Springfield nodded sheepishly.

"Then meet my promising new assassin, Springfield. You have the honour of being his first victim. Anthony, get at him. And don't be scrupulous."

He attacked in a run, eager to finish this bloody task as quickly as possible. As he charged, he saw panic cross Springfield's expression, saw fear of death in those dull little eyes. He brought the knife down, just aiming at Springfield's torso-

No, he couldn't. He couldn't just stab the man.

Springfield had no problems with blocking his weak attempt. "Get off me, Dracula!" he bellowed, pushing him away and now in his turn attacking.

Mentally cursing, he dodged a punch. Why did Knox have to tell him? Now Springfield knew he was fighting for his life, which would make him desperate. Which, in turn, would make the swine harder to defeat.

That was your big chance right now, and you spoiled it. Only because of your sentimentality.

Clenching his teeth, he let the blade descend into Springfield's arm, making the man howl with pain. Interesting, there was a bit of resistance as the blade was plunged into the flesh, just like with pork…

Go on, that man _is_ pork. Treat him like part of your dinner.

Meat pie, I'm coming!

Again he stabbed at him, this time merely wounding Springfield's hand held up in defence, then he hit the man's shoulder, then his arm once more. As he pulled the blade out again, some blood was splattered onto the wall.

Roaring with helpless rage, Springfield threw himself at him, almost throwing him off his feet but accidentally ramming the knife into his own stomach with full force at the same time. With a terrible howl, Springfield retreated, clutching himself.

Shelob, he thought, remembering the giant spider from _The Lord of the Rings_. She just does the same thing, throwing herself at Sam and thereby ramming his little sword into her soft underside.

There was a bit of blood on his right hand.

"Go ahead, finish him", Vivian said coldly.

"Yeah, finish him!" Knox sounded just like a spectator at a football match.

Summoning all the wrath and hatred he carried within, he stepped forth, grabbed the man by the shoulder-

Their eyes met.

Remember Ceausescu.

Remember that officer.

Remember your parents.

And you have a pig's eyes, Meat Pie!

But still… is this approaching Death, mirrored in his eyes?

Can he see what I cannot see now?

What lies Beyond?

The moment elongated into an eternity…

… and then suddenly was over. Grasping the knife tightly, he thrust it into Springfield's throat. As the blade met its target, he closed his eyes. There was an ugly sound, quite similar to that of a knife cutting through carton, a gurgle… And then something warm and wet ran over his fingers, splashed over them as he withdrew the blade.

He opened his eyes. Before him, Springfield was slumping to the ground slowly, staring at him with wide, expressionless eyes, blood spurting out from a slash all over his throat. Fingers grasped at his knee, all strength gone from them, flinched uncontrollably, clutched thin air. Springfield tried to say something, but no words came. Instead, a bubble of blood built up between his trembling lips, exploded and soiled his face. A cough shook the dying man, making more blood follow, thick, dark blood like slime. And still he stared at him with those empty eyes, and still his lips moved, and still he drew mouthfuls of rattling breath although it was pointless…

Can't you die, man? Can't you just die right now?

Springfield gurgled, spraying his sneakers with blood.

God damn it, die!

I've killed him. I've actually killed him. Ye gods, I've killed the man.

And still he's looking at me like that…

He thrust the blade into the man's neck once more to end it all, and again, and again, and those damn eyes were still looking at him, and again, and the man's head hit the ground finally, and again, and there was a little stream of blood from his mouth…

_There, beside a burnt-down caravan, lay Cornel Lanu, a trail of blood leading from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and Ioan Dinescu beside him, his hair still burning with small, hungry flames, and a bit off to the side Liviu, the young man who had once been his friend, his eyes still open and glassily staring into nothingness…_

He dropped the knife in disgust and turned away from Springfield's body that moved no more now. His right hand and forearm were bathed in blood.

"Anthony", Vivian purred, "you're magnificent."


	15. Bathroom Timeout

It was like swimming back up to the surface after a long, deep dive. Even the sound in his ears seemed to be there.

I just killed a man.

I'm all smeared with blood.

Springfield is dead.

I've got a really bad past now. Enough to be executed.

I actually did it. I stabbed him to death.

Didn't I want to do it for such a long time?

Yes, but not in such a literal sense.

He fought the instinct of wiping his hands on his trousers. Those clothes were not his.

And, damn it, I'm close to wetting my pants!

"Come on", he heard Knox's voice at the edge of his consciousness. "You can wash your hands at the staff's bathroom, it's not far. Vivian, would you arrange for our late employee to be taken away?"

Had he just heard bathroom? Yes!

"No problem", Vivian said. "Harris and Friedrich are down at the basement. They've been informed. They've actually been looking forward to taking that blundering bloke away – Clarke's friends, you see?"

"That's very clever of you." Knox was seemingly impressed.

Recognizing the German name, he automatically corrected Vivian's pronunciation in his mind. That ch sound, everybody seemed to be thinking it was the same as a k. In this case, it ought to be the soft one.

Here he was, just having killed someone and now bothering about such details!

He wanted to pick up the discarded shirt again, feeling somewhat naked in that undershirt-like piece of clothing, but there was no way of putting it on when one of his hands was that bloody.

"Come on, boy." Knox led him out towards the bathroom, and he trotted after him without turning around.

I've just killed, and he's still calling me boy…

They entered the men's room, a small and slightly smelly place, and Knox was kind enough to turn on the water for him. He thanked him with a nod and hurried to wash off the worst, then headed straight for the next cubicle. He was in need for some privacy now.

"Hey, where're you going?" Knox called after him. "Feeling sick?"

He shook his head, pulled the door shut behind him and locked it, already fumbling his fly open.

Ye gods, what have you done?

He briefly wondered if he should put up the toilet seat, but decided against it rather quickly. The mere touching it with the tips of his fingers would be a rather unhygienic action.

Couldn't Springfield have cleaned the toilets before he killed him?

Good riddance, he told himself while leaning against the side wall of the cubicle with one shoulder in exhaustion. Just like Knox said. It was a good thing you killed the swine.

They wouldn't count that arguments when they arrested him.

Come on, he tried to calm himself, nobody knows, and nobody ever will except Knox and Vivian and those to enemies of Springfield's. And those two guys don't even know it was you who did it.

Cheer up, Knox is content with you. And Vivian actually called you magnificent.

I wonder what Benji is going to say?

This could get me on the electric chair.

Nah, not me. I'm too young.

You're almost twenty. They've sentenced people to death who were younger than you.

Knox made me. And Vivian.

Another argument that won't count. You were free to choose, after all.

But they won't get their hands on me. They'll never know. Nobody is going to miss that ugly brute. Nobody is going to find out what I did. After all, Knox is interested in keeping me.

If they knew at the orphanage… They would probably turn him in straight away, cursing him and wishing him to be sent to hell.

No, not quite. They would pray to God to forgive the poor young sinner.

Well, he didn't care if God forgave him or not. He did not believe in God anyway.

Did his parents, in a different world now, have some way of knowing what he was doing? And would they approve of it? Their own son, a murderer…

He finished, zipped up his trousers and flushed the toilet, then went to continue washing his hands. There still was blood beneath his fingernails.

"You know", said Knox lazily, standing beside the basin and watching him, "you somewhat overdid it. There was no need to nearly hack his head off."

He nodded without looking at Knox. Yes, that was right. He had overreacted. It had been stupid of him. Why behave like that, like a madman?

"Well, at least it shows you have some temperament." Knox laughed dryly. "Never mind about the mess. You'll know how to do it the next time."

Again he nodded, his hands and right forearm covered in grey soap. Nasty thing, but good enough to scrub all the blood off him. Was there still a bit left, between his fingers?

Now, now, he told himself, don't act like Lady Macbeth! You're clean enough already. He washed the soap off, mentally cursing the icy cold water that nearly made his fingers fall off by now. Then he moistened his forehead and temples a bit, cleaning off the sweat.

"Finished?" Knox threw him a greying towel, on which he rubbed himself dry. "Don't worry, nobody will be able to tell from your hands that you killed somebody."

I do hope so, he thought.

But will they read it from my face that I did something when I come back home?

He gave the towel back to Knox, and his eyes briefly met the gaze of his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. So this is what a killer looks like, he thought.

No, not a killer. An assassin.

If the cut on his cheek made him look dashing, the term "assassin" certainly did.

When he followed Knox out of the bathroom, he actually found himself smiling.


	16. Aftermath

"How's he?" Vivian asked when they all were assembled around a little table, having a glass of soda together.

"Oh, he's perfectly alright." Knox grinned broadly.

"What took you that long? Was he sick or what? I think that happened to Morgan."

"He? Nah! He merely needed a piss." Still grinning, Knox boxed him in the arm. "He's of the tough sort, it seems."

Feeling very much Knox's equal now, he grinned back. And Benji had been sick! Yes, he was tough, he was the toughest. He had been made the toughest fellow he himself knew.

But at great pain.

On this terrible day when his whole world had collapsed around him, his path had been laid out before him. Suffering had made him what he was now. Pain had formed him, made him ready for what lay ahead.

He took another swig from his glass, savouring those thoughts and at the same time cringing inwardly at the memories locked inside him, never to be formed into words.

When Vivian's hand touched his, he almost flinched.

"What is it you are thinking about?" she asked gently. "What makes your expression so dark, your eyes so fierce?"

"Oh, come on, Vivian! He's just killed somebody! Do you expect him to laugh merrily? I've never met anybody who would."

"No, it's something else. Isn't it, Anthony?"

Before he could think about it, he nodded, but regretted it immediately.

"Now where did we leave that notepad?"

"I have it", said Knox. "But I don't feel like having serious discussions right now."

Grateful, he nodded as affirmatively as he could. No, this was none of Vivian's business, even though he felt somehow drawn to her. This matter was his, and his alone.

"You see", Knox added, "the lad agrees with me."

"Oh, men." Vivian rolled her eyes at her partner.

"I suggest we go bowling instead."

"You jerk! Only nightclubs have open now."

"No, I was referring to our nice bowling facilities in the cellar. But we could also go to a nightclub, eh, kid? Leave Vivian here and spend the night partying?"

He smiled in response, not feeling like joking at all.

Vivian was answering in a similar manner, yet he didn't pay attention to their playful bickering. A look at his watch told him that it was well past one o'clock. His roommates would probably be asleep by now. Or maybe they would still be up talking, probably about him. Would it be very much in favour of him? Although he generally liked the boys sharing a dormitory with him, he strongly doubted it. They were just colleagues, or, especially in the case of Jake, comrades. Nothing more. There was no real friend among them. When he had looked into the broken gaze of Liviu's dead eyes, he had seen the last of friendship in this world.

Ye gods, Liviu! How he had adored the young man! When they had first met – it had been in the last days of 1980 in Vienna, just after having succeeded in leaving the East behind… _He shivered even in his warm winter jacket as the cold wind whipped at him. The air was dry and as icy as he imagined the North Pole, and snow was falling in tender flocks, dancing on the wind… _He clearly recalled how happy his parents had been to be finally out of all Communist dictators' reach, in the freedom only the West offered. He himself, he had not quite known what to think of it. He had been afraid of what was to come, yet still hungry for all the new and exciting lying before him. When they had arrived, another family had awaited them: the Dinescu family, Liviu's family. Liviu had been a lad of almost seventeen years then, to him, not even five at that time, a grown-up. _And this tall young man knelt down before him and patted his head. "Hello, little one. I'm Liviu. I'll be your playmate until you find someone better." He beamed at the child, and his brown eyes shone, and a curl of light brown hair hung over his brow…_

The days following had been jolly days. They had seen the whole of Vienna, and Liviu had been like a brother to him, playing with him, looking after him, carrying him when he was tired of walking. And on Sylvester Night, as the sky outside was alight with the brightly coloured sparks of the fireworks of celebration, Liviu had sworn eternal friendship to him, never to forsake him, always to be his brother…

_"…until the cold hand of Death stays my heart."_

He smiled inwardly at the memory. When he now looked back on it, it had been just another game; Liviu had not been quite serious. But back in those days, it had meant very much to him.

And all those he had loved now lived no more…

"You listening, Tony boy? We've come to a decision."

Raising his eyebrows at Knox, he wondered if he had missed anything.

"I actually planned on having a high time, you know, opening a bottle of champagne and pick a fight among my employees, then go watch a movie on the big screen or something like that-"

"Yes, yes", Vivian interrupted, "that's about his concept of social life when he has a guest."

"You don't understand, Viv", Knox retorted. "That's boys' talk."

"Oh yeah? To me it's just a damn lot of silliness."

"Ignore her, Tony", Knox counselled. "She always tries to spoil the fun."

I'm Tony to you? That's interesting. I don't recall allowing you to call me so…

"You wanted to sum up the result of our discussion, Eric", she reminded him.

"Yeah, right. I was coming to that. In the end, we decided that we're going to bed now."

Sounds like a good idea, he thought, I could need some rest. While he mentally still was widely awake, his limbs were beginning to feel heavy as lead. Moreover, now his attention wasn't occupied with something else, it seemed that every muscle in his body was aching. Two brutal fights on one evening… That was just too much.

"Where is he going to sleep?" Vivian asked. "Did that ever occur to you? I wouldn't place him in the staff's quarters; those guys can be rather rough with the new boys. I suppose at least Paulie and Mikey might be arriving early in the morning tomorrow."

"He's not sleeping in your bed, either", Knox snapped.

Vivian rolled her eyes at him. "I'll tell you something, stupid: He sleeps in your room, you sleep in mine."

"And you sleep in yours, too", Knox added, careful to make sure of that.

"Jealous, are we?" Vivian mocked him.

"You're not going to fall for the assassin", Knox said firmly.

The assassin. Yes, that's me. The dark and evil assassin.

He felt like growing several inches at this thought.

"I think you should really go to bed now, Eric. You're talking nonsense." With these words, Vivian rose from her seat and beckoned him to follow her. Hastily he drained his glass, then jumped to his feet. "I'll show you your quarters", Vivian said.

"I'm coming along", Knox informed her immediately.

"I don't mind."

The rooms belonging to Knox and Vivian were in the tower, right below the roof. He had expected Knox's room to be a lot larger, yet it turned out to be nothing but a small chamber with a bed in it and an old cupboard in a corner. There was a radio on a little bedside table, but that was all. From what the room looked like, it was easy to deduce that Knox didn't normally live here, or if he was staying here, that he spent his time somewhere else.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, he threw off the shirt Knox had borrowed him and in the dim light of a little lamp had another look at his forearm. No, it appeared to be quite clean. No traces of blood to be discovered. And when he sniffed it, it merely smelled of that horrible grey soap.

Why don't you just stop it, you jerk? You're really acting like Lady Macbeth!

And pick up that shirt, idiot. It's not yours.

He hung Knox's shirt over the end of the bed, then started pacing the room a bit. But since there wasn't much space to do so, he rather quickly gave it up and sat down on the bed, resting his head in his hands. It had been quite a night. First that tavern swordfight Benji had insisted on, then being taken away and questioned by a woman he didn't know, confronted with a man he didn't know who could offer him a job he didn't know anything about, then doing several pointless things, from running up and down a slope to tavern-brawling, for some unknown reason… Uncertainties everywhere. And then, finally, Knox's announcement on the dark terrace – and after that, it now seemed to him that everything had happened all by itself. He accepted and almost immediately killed his first man. And that about was it, now it was bedtime for him. Having achieved what Knox had wanted him to do, it was enough for the day.

It had been clever to launch him at Springfield so soon after his agreeing to Knox's offer, he now recognized, for it had given him very little time to consider what he was actually doing.

And now he was in it, there was no way out. This realization dawned on him with brutal force. He moaned, pressing his fists to his temples; he cursed his own recklessness and folly. Now he was dependent on Knox. One wrong action, and Knox might well be finding a way of bringing him to justice.

Never before had the idea occurred to him that there might be any reason of bringing himself to justice. The justice he had craved for was revenge – justice for those he had loved. And now…

You are not better than _them_. You dare to accuse them, yet the hand with which you point at them is bathed in blood just as well.

I am, he shot back at himself. Damn it, I am! I was the one who was wronged in the first place. When I was weak, there was nobody who would stand up for me. Now my time has come, and I am strong. Now the world shall pay for all that pain inflicted on me. Wounds for wounds, blood for blood, death for death.

Yes, it was you, World, who made me what I am. If you make my life hell, I will become the fiend to live in it.

Satisfied with his conclusion, he decided to give the whole matter no more thought now. Time to sleep. Not a bad idea after all. He started taking off his clothes, but already when untying his shoelaces he stopped. There were dark red blots on his sneakers. Blood. Springfield's blood. He spat on one of his shoes and industriously tried to rub the stains off, but it wouldn't quite work. The bloodstains stayed where they were, only a very slight bit paler than before.

Oh, damn it all, he told himself. There was time enough for cleaning up tomorrow. Taking off the rest of his clothes, he turned off the light and then crawled into bed in his boxers and wrapped the blanket around him tightly. The bedding was still cold, and he curled up like a dog, trying to keep himself warm, trying to ignore his still aching body. After some time, warmth crept into sheet and blanket, and he relaxed a bit. Just close your eyes. Sleep. You're tired. He rolled around a bit until he found a comfortable position, lying on his stomach with his left arm hugging the pillow, his face buried in it, and pulled the blanket around him. Again he was surrounded by the same warm, comfortable darkness of which he was part, protecting him from unfriendly eyes, guarding him while he was alone. Soon he fell asleep.


	17. Knox's Plan

_The wind was howling through the dark woods, shaking the trees, making them groan. He had a hard time keeping his hold on the thick branch he had chosen as seat. The rough bark was hurting his hands._

_Thunder rolled, and what was visible of the sky was covered in clouds dark as lead._

_There was smoke on the wind._

_He knew what was to come now, and he dreaded it._

_Lightning struck the treetops ahead, making them blaze with bright fire at once. From the nearby trees the ravens fled, heading off into the dark sky, riding on the storm._

_There was a deafening clap of thunder, and a garb of fire was shooting out at him to embrace him…_

_He let go of the branch, tumbled towards the ground helplessly, a silent scream on his lips…_

_… and found himself lying in a heap on cold stone, a roaring ring of fire closing around him to devour him. There was still a gap, one small gap… He dashed for it, but he was nothing but a small boy, he didn't have the strength for a sprint like that. Flames were leaping up from under his feet, licking at him greedily, ready to devour him…_

_And then the voices came, shouting from far off, but still close to his ears, and there was no way of blocking them out. "Get me that bastard!" "Hey man, know anyone by the name of Liviu Dinescu?" "No matter where he's hiding, he's still going to burn, and you all with him!"_

_Screams of rage, of wrath, of pain._

_"Here, get that brat! He's running off!" A rough hand grabbed his jacket from behind, but he didn't turn, he just struggled on towards the rapidly closing gap._

_Mom! Dad! Where are you?_

_The smoke was sending tears into his eyes, and the tears blinded him._

_Somewhere in all the tumult and chaos the lion roared._

_He fell over something, a body all smeared with blood, a body belonging to a swarthy man like one of the barbarians that came from the East. And beside the body, still moaning, but tossing and turning uselessly, twitching out of control… He had known that man, that man had been a friend of his parents', that man had been kind to him on numerous occasions, that man had led the pony around the arena, and on its back he had balanced… He distinctly knew that he would be doing it no more._

_And the gap closed, sparks shooting up high into the darkened sky. He came to a stop in front of it, coughing because of all the smoke filling his lungs, his eyes burning, his throat so tight that he believed he was choking. His parents' voices filled the air, screaming, desperately calling for his help. But he was caught inside a ring of fire rapidly growing smaller, and there was no way out._

_Something was clenched in his hand: a strand of hair, fluttering in the breeze created by the flames._

_And then he was grabbed by his collar roughly, and a raspy voice hissed into his ear: "Say good-bye to this world, sonny…", and he mentally begged the attacker to kill him, and to make it fast, and at the same time he wanted to live, and everything was turning around him, all the world was a blur, the flames closed in on him, reached him, engulfed him…_

He jerked upright in bed, drenched in sweat, his breathing going just as fast as his heartbeat.

"Anything wrong, buddy?" It was Knox, standing in the doorway in overlarge pyjamas. "Only I heard you gurgle and moan and stuff."

So at least he had not screamed. He shook his head to tell the man everything was alright, although he didn't feel alright himself, and hoped that he would see it in the gloom.

"It was about that guy you killed, wasn't it?"

He shook his head again. No, indeed not. There was far worse he remembered than Springfield dying. His parents dying, for a start.__

The next moment he had to close his eyes as Knox turned on the light, and although it was a dim light, it was blinding after the darkness. "But you did have a nightmare, didn't you? Come on, I'd like to know what an assassin dreams about at the beginning of his career." And before he could react in any way, Knox tossed him notepad and pen. "There you are. Let me know what it was about."

_The day my parents died,_ he wrote, direly hating Knox for finding him weak once more.

"Oh, I see. Nothing about the late Mr Springfield?"

He shook his head firmly.

"Now don't go telling me it had no impact on you. Your tough friend Benji Morgan himself told me that he was sick after his first kill."

_Trust me, that day was much worse._ He wished that Knox would let him be now, that he would just go back to bed and stop tormenting him with his own memories.

"Dear me, Tony. You are indeed an astounding lad. Two or three years and a bit of training, and I wouldn't want to meet you in a dark alley at night."

He snorted. If that was all…

"Don't get me wrong, buddy." Knox sat down at the edge of the bed beside him. "I wasn't employing irony this time. I mean it. You have a future in that job, trust me. And I can offer you a future. I've been lying awake, and I've been thinking. You know what I was thinking about?"

Sitting with his arms around his knees, he shrugged. It seemed that Knox needed somebody to talk to, even if that one didn't respond.

Maybe Knox had been the one who had had a bad dream somehow related to Springfield.

"I'm afraid I haven't been honest with you, Tony. You know, when I pretended not to know a thing about you… The truth is that I knew quite a lot. I asked your friend, and he told me. He has quite an insight, that Benji Morgan. He can see you through. He told me what kind of guy you are."

He raised his eyebrows at Knox questioningly, knowing that he did both himself and the other man a favour thereby, himself by knowing what Benji had said about him, Knox by listening to him.

"Yes, of course you want to know." Knox gave him a little nudge in the ribs, and he had to bite his lips not to yelp with pain, for Knox's elbow had hit him precisely where the worst bruises were. "He said that you're probably the most cold-hearted creature that ever walked on earth. A lonely wolf, and glad to be one. Careless and cruel. But very good at hiding your nature behind a cute façade of shyness and awkwardness. And very sly, very cunning when you want to achieve a goal."

What? _That_ was what Benji had said about him? Partially that might be true, but Benji would not mainly know him from that side. If Knox had been honest right now…

Now wait. Benji had to be the one who had not been quite honest. How much had Benji wanted him to get that job? Well, as much as his friend himself had wanted to get out of it – to get that other one where he got a lot more payment. So he had just concentrated on his very worst aspects of character.

You're such a mercenary, Benji.

But then again… somehow the idea of being described as the ultimate villain wasn't that unpleasant, after all.

"Of course that's not all", Knox continued. "You can be quite a dreamer sometimes, so he said. And I know what you dream about, too. Epic wars and great bloodshed." He laughed dryly. "He might have been right, don't you think?"

He shrugged. Maybe Knox was a bit drunk and exaggerated everything.

"But there was one thing about you that seemed to be of importance to him. He said that you would never turn on your friends. That you're loyal. A man of honour."

Completely right, he thought. I have always held honour high, just as my parents and grandparents wanted me to.

"I'll tell you something, Tony, my friend: I think that one day you are going to be the best among my men."

Although that constant abbreviation of his name was somewhat annoying, he felt that he should somehow react to that. Taking up the notepad again, he wrote: _I will give my best._

Knox smiled as he read it. "That's my boy. And you will have to. Because there's an important plan I have. You know, I can be quite single-minded sometimes, especially about one thing." He paused and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "For the thing about your parents – you have my sympathy. I too lost my father when I was very young. He was murdered, murdered by his best friend. And I can't wait for the day when I'll make that traitor pay for it." All boyishness had gone from his face and was replaced by an expression of pure hatred. "One day… and I hope it will be soon now… and you will help me, won't you?"

He nodded dutifully.

Abruptly Knox stood up. "But I'm talking nonsense", he said. "You had better sleep now, and so had I." He headed for the door and put out the light. Yet in the doorway he stopped and turned back once more. "I just want you to remember his name. It's Charles Townsend." With that, Knox was gone.

He still sat there with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring into the darkness. Charles Townsend. If you wish…


	18. The Highest Cliff

In the morning he woke when Vivian, already fully dressed, popped her head in. "Wakey-wakey, Mr Assassin!"

He yawned and heaved himself up on one elbow, and because it was Vivian he made sure that the blanket did not glide off him too far. The events of the last evening stood clearly before him, just as well as the nightly conversation with Knox. What was that name he wanted me to remember? Charles Townsend, yeah. Got that.

"Get more or less dressed and come down for breakfast. We're waiting for you downstairs." With this, she disappeared again.

Throwing back the blanket, he sat up. Besides his still aching side, he felt well. How long had he slept? He fished his watch from the pocket of the trousers and had a look at it. Almost midday. Not surprising how well he was, then.

He hastily put on the clothes he had worn on the day before, ignoring the reddish-brown, now dried-in bloodstains on his sneakers, and then went downstairs, buttoning up his shirt as he went, just out of habit. So where exactly was he supposed to go now? "Downstairs" was a rather vague description.

And can I get a shower somewhere, maybe?

He paid a quick visit to the bathroom, then started looking for Knox and Vivian. Where could they be?

"You there", came a voice from behind him. He turned on his heels, ready to fight, but the dark-haired man dressed in black jeans and T-shirt standing in a door behind him didn't look that aggressive. "You the new boy? In here, then."

He stepped over the threshold, trying to tidy up his messy hair as he did so. Knox and Vivian were already sitting at the table, together with three others, dressed similarly as the man who had shown him in.

Looking up at him, Knox gave him a somewhat awkward little smile. "Ah, here you are. You're sitting to my right today, so be honoured." Knox attempted a grin, and he gave him one in return. It was very obvious: His new employer was feeling a bit embarrassed at their nightly encounter, so he guessed. Needing someone to talk to, especially if one hardly knew this someone, was a token of weakness.

He never needed anyone to talk to.

No, that was not quite correct. He simply didn't have anyone to talk to, and there was a certain problem with talking as well. But sometimes… he would appreciate such an opportunity.

Taking the seat on Knox's right side, he gave the others a polite nod – his usual way of wishing a good morning -, already discreetly scanning the breakfast table. Toast with butter and jam? That about matched his own concept of breakfast, although sitting at a table depended on his mood. Sometimes he would just pick up a pile of toast and slip off to the grounds with it. When he had been smaller, he had been forced to sneak out because the nuns didn't like that behaviour, but now he just sauntered off provocatively past the staff table, and not even the Mother Superior would stop him. Of course taking a walk through the grounds meant no butter and jam, but that didn't matter much. He wasn't very complicated where food was concerned.

"Lads, say hi to your new buddy", Knox instructed his men.

"Hi, buddy", they more or less chorused, then had a laugh at it.

"The one who killed that old stinker Springfield?"

"He did? Dealed with that mighty bloke with such a small knife?"

"That skinny kid?"

"Hey, give him an award for public services!"

"Go on, boy, I like you!"

"I guess I'll be wanting his autograph now."

"What did he do it for, boss?"

"Because I told him too", grinned Knox. "Never liked that foul brute."

"Well, thanks a bunch, boss."

"Yeah, thanks. Want some toast, new buddy?"

He gave the man a shy little smile and nodded. It seemed that they accepted him. They were impressed at what he had done. They even appreciated it.

"There's one thing you should know about him, gentlemen", Knox cut in. "Besides that he's called Anthony, I mean. He never speaks."

"Mute?"

Oh _man_, why did they always have to ask _that_?

"No. He downright refuses to."

"He refuses?"

"Whoo-hoo, Mystery Man!" It was the same who had offered him toast.

"That's the point, Jerry." Knox poured himself some more coffee. "He somehow seemed right. Come on, Paulie, take a seat, Mikey, pass me the butter, and you, Jerry, make him some toast."

By now he was getting the idea why he was Tony to Knox.

"Right, boss." Jerry grinned broadly and approached the toaster. "So, new buddy. How would you like your toast, rather white or rather dark or something in between?"

The assembled men laughed as they realized that he would have to find a way to answer that. But before he even had the time to think _Oh dear, I'm in trouble, how am I going to communicate that?_, Knox handed him notepad and pen, as he had done the day before. Giving his new colleagues a polite grin, he wrote: _Give it a nice tan, please, so that you see the grating on it._

Okie dokie." Jerry pressed two buttons on the large, bulky toaster and busied himself with the bread. "I'll have it travel through slowly, then."

"Don't let them dominate you", said Vivian, who sat right opposite him. "Your job has the higher qualification."

"And he already has the Harvard certificate required for it, eh?" asked the man Knox had called Mikey.

"I didn't realize they have courses for that", Knox put in, his mouth full of toast.

"For what?" asked Paulie, the one who had beckoned him in. "I'd recommend _A Beginner's Guide to Beheading_, but that's entirely up to you, boss."

There was some more laughter, and he grinned broadly. Nobody was shocked at what he had done, and after the doubts of the night this was comforting. They even seemed to think that Springfield's death was a laughing matter.

Well, if they thought so, he'd give them some more to have a snicker at. _Beheading someone with a small ornamental dagger? I bet they can't do that even at Harvard._

Knox read the note, chuckled and passed it on to Vivian and his men, who took it in turns to read it and grin some more. "You'll be the one who gets the chair for it, just you wait. Want some coffee, professor?" He was surprised at how much he felt at ease in this company. Neither Knox nor his men treated him as a weirdo, as the boys at the orphanage usually did (although they were careful not to show it too openly ever since they had realized that he could hit quite hard when under attack). They also didn't politely ignore him, as most of the girls did. No, they actually treated him with some respect, although they all were older than him. They treated him as an equal.

Because you have killed. That's a tremendous method of teaching people respect.

After breakfast, Knox took him upstairs again. Like at night, they went out onto the terrace, which now lay in full, warm sunlight. Remembering the pale, eerie sheen of the moon, their conversation lying back only a few hours seemed strangely distant to him now, distant and unreal, like a dream.

Things had chanced since then. He had killed, for a start. That made it a different situation. There was no way back now.

But his heart wasn't pounding as hard as it had when that thought had occurred to him at a previous time. He seemed to be getting used to the idea.

"Remember", said Knox slowly, "how you claimed you weren't afraid of jumping off cliffs?"

He nodded, savouring the glittering waves of the ocean under the warm sun.

"Will you look down for a minute?"

He knew what would come now. Walking towards the balustrade slowly, he tried to look completely impassive. How deep would it be? He had wondered last night, and he still wondered now.

Most of the terrace faced away from the sea, but one corner, right beside the door leading back into the tower, was above the ocean. Both hands on the balustrade, he gazed down – into an abyss. Waves were beating on a rocky shore, foam was flying. A cool, salty breeze caught his hair for a moment, then subsided again to the warm sunrays. He didn't even notice. All he saw was the blue water, far, far below.

"Do you dare?" came Knox's voice from behind him.

Damn.

"That's certainly the highest cliff you've ever seen, buddy."

Indeed. And he was certainly not jumping down there! That would be nothing but suicide.

But on the other hand… If he leapt far enough… Yes, it might just work. It might.

Are you mad?, he scolded himself. That's ten meters at the least. Rather fifteen. You know how hard the water will be when falling from that height, don't you?

Yes, but if he dived in headfirst… While falling, there would be time enough to turn himself over in the air. Technically, it would probably work.

But there was still the risk. What if he crashed down onto the rocks? What if the water wasn't deep enough? What if - ?

Coward, he thought. Goddamn miserable coward.

No, I'm just being sensible.

He laughed at himself. When have I ever been sensible?

I might give it a try now.

And remember, Knox still owes you a lot of money. Do you want to lose five hundred dollars before you have even earned them? That's worth more than your damn life, you freak!

"Bet you you don't dare! Bet you twenty dollars." By now Knox was standing at his side, both hands in his pockets, grinning broadly at his new employee. "Nobody ever did that. I once bet a guy a whole hundred and he refused and coughed up straight away." Knox laughed merrily. "Taking the bet, are you?"

Against better knowledge, he nodded.

And the next moment, he was cursing himself. Damn your pride, you fool! That's twenty dollars less you'll see!

Oh, won't I? Really?

He remembered the ramp they had used to flip people up into the air, back in his circus days. Liviu had been particularly good at that, he recalled. And one day, when one of the older children had spread his ankle during the performance… _"Hey, you're approximately his size! Why don't you do it?"_ And he, though with hammering heart and sweaty hands, had stepped upon the ramp… _All the people suddenly looking at him, the shocked expression on his mother's face, the silence all around him… The tension building up in him, the anticipation… and then he was ejected upwards, and fast. While turning in the air, he for a moment glimpsed the spectators, seemingly far below, and his heart stopped… He was much smaller and lighter than the other boy, he realized, so he was catapulted higher… And then something else took over, automatically repeating the moves he had learned when training with his father. After what felt like a triple somersault, he came flying back down, teeth clenched, fearing to hit hard ground any moment… and then landed on the soft mat with a thud, and even on his feet, before he keeled over. There were shiny dots dancing before his eyes, but his stomach was filled with a warm, content feeling. He had never been so proud before._

I was seven then. I'll soon be twenty now.

He took off his shirt and tossed it over at Knox, then started unfastening his shoelaces. One couldn't swim with shoes on.

Knox stared at him in utter disbelieve. "What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing?"

He didn't answer, not even with the smallest of gestures, merely continued busying himself with his shoes and socks – one probably couldn't swim with socks, he guessed, and he was not going to try it right now.

"Anthony! You're mental!"

Like I've never heard _that_ before. He leapt onto the balustrade lightly, giving what lay below a critical scan. Yes. Right. This was going to work.

But, damn it, this is the highest cliff of your entire life, boy.

So… Headfirst? Yep, headfirst. Moreover, the way down was by far long enough for a nice little somersault, wasn't it? Nothing wrong with a bit of showing off when he was at it anyway.

"Anthony, please…" When he looked down at Knox, there was something in the man's brown eyes he hadn't seen before. Fear? Shock? "You can't do this. You're only gonna get yourself killed. Please be reasonable."

Pleading? Are we as far as that yet? Good. He stood on the balustrade and felt the wind whip at his hair, the sea roaring far below, and his future employer was almost on his knees by now. He definitely liked that. And wearing Knox's trousers and undershirt thing added a grotesque touch to it.

Man, I'm a goddamn bloody freak.

Always been one. If I get myself killed, at least I die just as I have lived then. He smiled grimly to himself. He had nothing to lose but his life, and that was of no worth anyway, to nobody. And he had everything to win.

"Anthony, I was joking!" Knox's tone was frantic by now.

The salty breeze caught his hair and let it fly wildly around his head. About the right direction, as far as the wind was concerned. It wasn't very strong, but if it affected his fall, it would carry him away from the rocky wall, towards the open sea.

If you wait any longer, you'll spoil it all.

He prepared to jump.

Damn, it's _very_ high.

I could still pretend I was only joking…

Giving himself a mental slap around the head, he silently counted to three, then forced himself to leap, performed a perfect somersault in the air and then went downwards, gaining speed as he went. The ocean raced towards him, became one huge field of blue…

Before he dived straight into blackness, he thought: Not a good idea, boy, definitely not…


	19. Defying Death

Something gurgled around his ears. He was still falling, but a lot slower, and the texture of the air had changed…

Water. You're in the water.

That must be the ground where I'm going. Man, just look at those jagged pieces of rock.

I don't think I want to be going _there_.

And then, his instincts came back. He moved his arms back in a powerful stroke, steering himself upwards. The surface came closer fast, a field of blinding brightness compared to the cool, gloomy shades of blue and green of what lay below. But still it was far above his head. The gurgling of the water was deafening. Spots of red were dancing before his eyes. A salty taste was in his mouth, sickeningly salty. Up! Air! There was room for nothing else in his mind. A hot pain was building up in his lungs, trying to force his clenched jaws open, urging him to suck in – anything, anything out there. And the brightness was coming closer, closer, but still not fast enough, closer, his lungs were about to explode, closer, the blackness was reaching for him once more, closer, ever closer, almost there, he couldn't hold his breath any longer, his jaw snapped open…

And he was there. The light engulfed him, and his head came up through the surface. Treading water hard, he greedily inhaled a huge mouthful of air. He saw the sun in the sky, saw the small white clouds, saw the tower of Knox's seaside dwelling – so far above! – and knew he was alive.

Ye gods.

The shore seemed very far off.

Summoning all his strength, he started swimming towards it. But he felt so limp, so… drowsy… No, don't black out right now! You'll make it. It's not that far, you're almost there…

Let's face it. You're too tired.

No, I'm not going to drown! Not after all I went through yesterday!

Not before Knox has given me those five hundred dollars, God damn it! And twenty extra!

He ploughed through the water as fast as he could, feeling exhaustion drag down his limbs, down into the darkness below. But he would not give up. Not him. Not now.

It really wasn't far anymore now.

He continued fighting the salty waves. Several times they met over his head, making him swallow water, but every time he came up again and swam on. At last there was ground under his bare feet. He struggled onwards, staggered, fell, crawled out onto the golden sand, pulled himself away from the water. He got up to his hands and knees and spat several times, until the sickening taste of salt wasn't so overwhelmingly strong anymore.

I made it! I jumped!

And then his resources were spent, and he collapsed and remained lying where he was, one foot still washed over by the waves. The sudden emptiness of his mind was so wonderfully comforting…

Someone was prodding him, fussing over him, but he didn't care. He didn't want this refreshing feeling of blankness to go right now.

Then he was turned around, and he looked right up into Vivian's face. What was it that shone in her eyes? Anger? Or was it concern?

"My God, Anthony, you could have gotten yourself killed…"

He smiled up at her weakly. But I didn't. I'm too good to die.

Death, I defy you.

There were Mikey and Paulie, too, bending over him.

Right now, at this moment and in this place, life was good.

"Anthony!" It was Knox, running towards them. "Thank God, you crazy boy, you're alive!"

Why God? I don't need God to protect me. I'll manage on my own.

Knox knelt down beside him. "Just imagine what Morgan would have said if anything had happened to you just now!"

Benji? Yeah, Benji. What would he have said?

No idea. Doesn't matter. Anyway, I'm not going to let anything happen to me.

After all, I'm an Assassin.

Grinning up at Knox, he wished that his parents could see him now. They surely would be proud.

For you, Mother and Father, I will not allow anything to happen to me. For you I will live.

Can you hear me, Death? I defy thee.


End file.
